The Last Outbreak (Book 3): Desperation (12 page)

Images of his father’s final moments continued to flash through his mind as he drove along in silence. Ethan had taken to counting the number of stalled vehicles that lined the sides of the road and eventually stopped when the count reached five hundred. They’d crossed the state line into Utah over an hour before, and although Griffin had been awake to watch the sign speed by, within the last thirty minutes, he’d joined the others as they quietly slept.

Continuing to check his mirrors, Ethan thought he’d seen another vehicle cresting the hill they’d passed a few minutes before. A raised black pickup truck, or at least from this distance that’s what it looked like, although he couldn’t really be sure. He wasn’t confident that what he was seeing was a truck at all. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours and hadn’t eaten a thing since they’d left the police station in Summer Mill. At this point, he wasn’t confident in anything.

If there were another group also traveling Interstate Seventy, he didn’t have any plans to make contact. At this point, it didn’t matter whether they were friend or foe—Ethan was done trusting anyone other than the six individuals riding in his vehicle.

Approaching the next highway sign, Ethan could see that it had been altered. And within fifty yards of the sign, his heart jumped as he read what was spray painted in black over the sign for Exit 160 and the city of Green Valley.

Two words in giant black letters covered the sign that announced the exit less than a half mile off. They were as clear as a summer day and surely would be seen by all who traveled this patch of road. Ethan gripped the wheel tight in his tired hands and read them under his breath.

“Infection free.”

Forgetting about the black pickup possibly somewhere in the distance, Ethan backed his foot off the gas just enough to bring their speed below sixty-miles per hour. He thought about waking Griffin and getting his opinion about pulling into the town of Green Valley.

Why would the residents of the small town be looking to help random drifters? Why advertise your city as a safe haven when so many others are only searching for what they can take from you? Or was this something altogether different? Were the good people of Green Valley even aware of the altered sign?

He’d avoided checking their fuel for the last thirty minutes, but with this new information, his gaze shifted once again to the instrument panel. Less than half a tank remained, and with their options running out, Ethan realized that making a pass through Green Valley was now more of a necessity.

Staring ahead, the exit for East Main Street approached. He checked his rear-view mirror once more and then moved into the right-hand lane. Again slowing, he noticed three trucks, two cars and a large SUV in the same familiar pattern. Bumper to bumper, alone on the shoulder, and as they passed, not a single sign that anyone had ever occupied the lifeless vehicles.

Again whispering to himself, Ethan pulled onto the off-ramp and said, “Here we go.”

Out if habit, he again cautiously checked his mirrors. First the driver’s and then the passenger’s side, staying with the image of the motionless vehicles. As the road drifted right, he was able to see the remainder of the shoulder and was assured that nothing hid in the shadows, where the asphalt bled into the dusty hillside.

Pulling to the end of the off-ramp, Ethan stopped the SUV. He shifted into park and stared up at the stop sign at the entrance to East Main Street. Scanning the wide open desert terrain, all was quiet, with the sound of the idling engine as his only distraction.

He sat with his hands on the wheel, relaxing his arms, as the motor’s heavy vibration crawled up into his shoulders and began loosening the tension from more than four hours seated in the same position.

Weary of leading his friends into another bad situation, he breathed out slowly and leaned into the steering wheel. Shifting his gaze to the right, he studied the abandoned road—where Main Street would lead into town—searching for something, anything. But nothing, other than the wind across the deserted landscape, seemed to move.

Shifting back into drive, Ethan twisted in his seat. He looked over his right shoulder and scanned the faces of his friends. As he got to Ben, he assumed his mind had begun playing tricks on him. The lack of sleep and the stress had finally taken over. Ben was awake, at least he thought he was.

His young friend’s voice came out low and broken. “Hey Ethan.”

Unbuckling his seatbelt and shifting the massive SUV back into park, Ethan leaned into the backseat and laid his hand over Ben’s. He wanted more than anything for this to be real and as Ben squeezed his hand back, he nearly exploded out of his seat with excitement.

Not wanting to wake the others, Ethan kept his voice to a whisper, although he was unable to control his joy. “Ben… are you… how do you feel?”

Ben forced a weak smile. “Arm hurts like crazy, but other than that, I’m pretty good. Super hungry, though.”

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. “We’ll get some food in you real soon.”

Squinting into the midday sun, Ben peered out through the windows, pausing when he saw the stop sign and the long road stretching out to the right.

“Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we?”

“Utah.”

“Utah? How long have I been out?”

“Quite a while, kid; you had us all pretty worried.”

Ben’s smile began to fade, and as it slowly transitioned into a look of confusion, he asked, “What happened?”

“We left the city. We had to. There was nothing left for us there.”

“My arm?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really, just that we were in the driveway across the street from your parents’ house and we heard gunfire. Not a whole lot after that makes sense.”

Nodding, Ethan again looked around the interior of the SUV. “You were shot… the bullet was meant for me, but went wide and hit you.”

“Who did it… who shot me?”

“Maddox, but he’s gone now.”

Wincing as he repositioned himself, Ben met Ethan’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“Save that, Carly’s the reason your still here with us. You can thank her when she wakes up.”

“Your dad?”

Ethan shook his head.

Ben lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Now desperate to change the conversation, Ben motioned out through the passenger’s window. “Where are we going?”

Trying to pull himself from the mental images of the previous night, Ethan followed Ben’s gaze through the window and pointed into the distance.

“Green Valley, just up the road a bit.”

“Okay,” Ben said. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go, I’m absolutely starving.”

Giving his young friend a thumbs-up, Ethan again lowered his voice. “Let’s wait until we get there to wake the others.”

“BRACE FOR IMPACT!”

The voice came directly from the cockpit, and without the aid of the overhead speakers, its owner wasn’t completely clear. Gripping tight to the armrests and with his head between his legs, Dalton silently prayed. He prayed that whatever was going to happen to him would just happen quickly. He had already resigned himself to the fact that death was watching over him, and he assumed that now it was simply waiting for its moment to strike.

The cabin shook violently as the jet slammed—belly first—onto the dirt covered asphalt. Craning his neck to the right, he glimpsed Goodwin. Three feet away, the man with the tight set jaw stared blankly out the window and bounced in his seat as the hurtling Gulfstream G280 slid violently toward the power lines at the end of the distressed runway.

Back to center, Dalton clamped his eyes shut and held tight to his seat. The sounds of metal being twisted and finally breaking away filled his ears as he attempted to avoid the images filling his mind. Debris from the unkempt runway splashed against the side of the jet, calling for Dalton’s attention.

Snapping his head to the right, a hailstorm of bright red sparks and a plume of trailing smoke battered the side of the onetime luxury jet. Instinctively flinching, Dalton felt his heart racing in his chest, his stomach constricting, and his vision beginning to narrow. He had less than ten seconds to pull himself together before he’d flop to the floor and be tossed around the interior like a ragdoll.

Fight or die—that was what he was now left with. Stay conscious for another thirty seconds and possibly walk away from the battered plane in one piece, or simply give up. He didn’t like option two, but also had no idea how to control what he was experiencing. He’d lost the battle with his mind more times than he cared to count, so this time he decided to take the opposite approach.

Clamping down on the plush leather armrests, Dalton’s rolled his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down. The shockwave of pain that followed the warm trickle of blood down his throat forced Dalton upright in his seat. He’d bitten through the skin below his bottom lip and peering back at his reflection in the jet’s window, marveled at how similar he looked to the beasts they were running from.

An explosion below where he sat rocked the G280 and pushed it onto its left side, as what he could only assume was the remaining landing gear being ripped from the bottom of the plane. With the force of the forward movement continuing to push him back against his seat, Dalton licked his lips and wiped away the blood dripping from his chin.

As the jet continued to slow, Dalton could feel his pulse dropping just as fast. He blinked away the grey and black spots clouding his vision and took a deep breath. Distracting himself with the excruciating pain of his lower lip had worked. However, now every time he looked in the mirror, he’d have a glaring reminder of the day he stood up to himself. Although at the moment, he couldn’t decide whether or not that was a good thing.

With the grinding sound of metal on asphalt beginning to dim, Dalton again looked to his right. He hadn’t noticed that Goodwin had moved from his seat, but now the man who’d brought him here was standing. With his right hand pushed into the overhead cabin and his left braced against the ceiling, the fifty-five-year-old self-professed sociopath shouted toward the front of the plane.

“OPEN THE DAMN DOORS… LET’S GO!”

Guiding himself toward the front of the jet as it continued forward, Goodwin wanted off. He didn’t care that the forward movement hadn’t yet stopped. He was satisfied that this plane had served its purpose and was now well past its useful life.

Leaning to his right, Dalton had his first clear shot of the cockpit and the world beyond. The power lines described to Goodwin earlier that day now came into view and looked as though they may in fact cause a problem.

Quickly calculating the probability of slamming into the downed power lines, Dalton reluctantly pushed away from his seat and stood. He watched as Walter and then Nicholas exited the cockpit and moved quickly to the door alongside Goodwin. Stepping aside, Goodwin again shouted at the pilots.

“OPEN THIS THING ALREADY!”

As Dalton rushed in behind the others, he crouched down, again checking their chances of escaping unscathed. It didn’t look good. Bracing himself with his left arm, he reached for the bag of weapons set against the cabinet outside the cockpit and pushed in next to Nicholas.

Growing impatient, Goodwin released the door lock himself and opened the door. He moved Walter aside and climbed down the steps, holding tight to the makeshift rails before jumping the short distance and rolling to the ground as the jet continued sliding forward.

Without turning to check on his crew, Goodwin stood and began walking away from the slowing jet as Walter and Nicholas also made the short descent and then jumped free.

With the bag of weapons hanging from his shoulder, and the plane nearly stopped, Dalton started down the steps. He looked back in the opposite direction and noticed Walter doing his best to keep pace, running behind the slowing jet, and urging Dalton down the steps.

“Let’s go kid! Now’s the time to move. You’re gonna have to jump.”

Holding tight to the rail with one hand and keeping the bag of weapons pressed to his hip, Dalton watched as the power lines raced toward him. He made short work of the final three steps and then leapt the short distance to the broken asphalt. Dropping the bag, he fell forward, rolled onto his side, and came to a stop as Walter quickly moved to his side.

Offering his hand, the older man motioned toward the plane as it slowly drifted into the power lines and finally came to a stop. “Hey kid, we gotta go.”

Extending his right arm, Dalton winced as his sock-covered feet touched the gravely asphalt. And turning back, he shook his head as he eyed Goodwin already walking away.

“I guess we’re leaving?”

Walter slapped Dalton on the back, reached for the bag of weapons, and pointed out a dilapidated hangar in the distance. “We’re going there. We need to get out of the open and see what we see.”

Dalton brushed off the knees of his pants, knowing that it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. “Hey Walter…”

“Yeah?”

“You guys able to reach Anton? It sure would make getting out of this city a whole hell of a lot easier.”

Walter began to jog. “Yep, the plan is to meet him and the others at the corner of Sunset, across from McCarran.”

Dalton matched his pace as they started toward Goodwin and Nicholas. “Then what?”

“Well, Anton says we’ve got a problem in the city, so getting back home may end up taking a bit more time.” Walter turned to Dalton as they continued to jog. “I just hope he’s wrong.”