The Dead Years-New Dawn (Book 1): Resurrection Read online

  THE DEAD YEARS

  NEW DAWN

  RESURRECTION

  Jeff Olah

  Copyright © 2020 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 Deranged Doctor Design

  www.derangeddoctordesign.com

  . . .

  Visit the author’s website for Exclusive Giveaways, Special Deals, and New Releases.

  www.JeffOlah.com

  BOOKS BY JEFF OLAH

  The Dead Years Series:

  ORIGINS

  THRESHOLD

  TURBULENCE

  BLACKMORE

  COLLAPSE

  VENGEANCE

  HOMECOMING

  RETRIBUTION

  ABSOLUTION

  The Last Outbreak Series:

  AWAKENING

  DEVASTATION

  DESPERATION

  REVOLUTION

  SALVATION

  The Next World Series:

  EXISTENCE

  RESISTANCE

  RESURGENCE

  More Stories:

  THE BONE COLLECTOR

  INTENT

  RATH

  Contents

  THE DEAD YEARS - NEW DAWN

  Then…

  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

  What’s Next?

  Sneak peek of The Last Outbreak

  Sneak peek of The Dead Years (Season One)

  About the Author

  For Jo

  Thanks for the nudge.

  THE DEAD YEARS - NEW DAWN

  The Dead Years – New Dawn was brought to life after more than a few readers requested that the Best-Selling Post-Apocalyptic series make a return. Below are a few questions related to the all-new series.

  Q: Can we get a brief description of The Dead Years – New Dawn?

  A: Sure, New Dawn begins five years after the outbreak of a deadly virus that brings humanity to its knees. It is an all-new story of survival that begins in an abandoned shopping mall an hour outside of Los Angeles, California. The story will follow the lives of a small group of survivors as they progress through what’s left of the world following the Zombie Apocalypse chronicled in the Best-Selling Post-Apocalyptic series, The Dead Years (Season One) and The Last Outbreak.

  Q: Speaking of The Dead Years (Season One) and The Last Outbreak … is it necessary to read those series before jumping into New Dawn?

  A: Absolutely not. The Dead Years - New Dawn is a complete story and as such, can be read without reading the other series. 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: The Dead Years and The Last Outbreak … how are they related?

  A: The Dead Years and The Last Outbreak are Best-Selling Post-Apocalyptic Zombie series written between March of 2013 and December of 2017. There are fourteen books in total, and 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. Those series can be found Here.

  Q: How long will this new series be?

  A: The series is scheduled for a four book run, although it may go shorter and it may go longer. This is completely up to you as the reader. As long as you are enjoying this all-new series, I will continue writing.

  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 this 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 Dead Years – New Dawn. So, feel free to send me a message or stop by Facebook and join the party. We would love to have you.

  -Jeff Olah

  Then…

  Five years ago the world was forever changed.

  Multiple reports of Intermittent Explosive Disorder Syndrome (IEDS) had begun to surface from an undisclosed military installation east of Las Vegas, Nevada.

  Three days later, an angered Florida man entered a Miami assisted living facility and killed four elderly residents. He is said to have “Eaten the faces and necks” of his victims.

  Less than a week later, there were twenty-eight unrelated cases of cannibalism reported from thirteen states. Medical examiners were “Attempting to find a connection.”

  Within fifteen days, the death toll attributed to the mysterious outbreak of IEDS climbed to nearly five thousand. News outlets tried to warn the public “Not to panic” and that these “Random occurrences” were simply “Isolated events.”

  Those first few days didn’t seem real, like living in a nightmare. No one knew exactly how or where it had started. There were only rumors at first, moving quickly from one city to the next. And within days, the media claimed that the virus had spread to nearly every corner of the planet.

  The infection took hold quickly. Many that became victims of the first wave were caught off guard by the unusual behavior of those infected. Millions perished with each passing day and the number of survivors continued to dwindle as they desperately searched for places free of this hell. The devastation was almost immediate. Law enforcement fell, utilities powered down, and civilization was irreversibly shattered. With no structure left in the world, the remaining few sought to band together to fight and survive in this new existence.

  That was five years ago … although not much has changed since that fateful day. There was hope, however fleeting, when three years ago Dr. Dominic Gentry and his team believed that they had finally found a cure. Their exuberance was short lived however, when the virus inexplicably began to mutate. The infected were turned much quicker, sometimes within minutes, and their new ravenous hunger was only surpassed by their voracious thirst for violence and their increasing detachment from physical stimuli.

  The world was again different, and those left behind were forced to adapt. They created settlements, planted crops, filtered the runoff, and were beginning to understand how to harness the power of the sun. It was slow, but it was something. It was progress, even if it seemed that all they did was eat, sleep, and battle the dead.

  Things may never get back to the way they once were, but for those who remained, just the hope of a better life was sometim
es their only motivation. And although it was far from perfect, they weren’t about to give up.

  Now…

  1

  Some things change … Some things never do.

  Mason Thomas wasn’t ready to die.

  His friends may have had a different opinion, but they didn’t understand. They couldn’t see the greater good, the forest for the trees. They weren’t looking at it with the same eyes, with the same history. He was out here doing what needed to be done to keep them safe. They just didn’t understand, but then again how could they?

  At least that’s what he’d told himself, what he needed to believe to get through what came next. He didn’t like the idea of having to lie to the others, but so far it seemed like the only way.

  Mason slowly filled his lungs with the early morning air. It was cool, but not cold. The winter bite from only a few weeks before had begun to lose its edge. He blew out slowly and turned his gaze toward the gathering crowd.

  Forty-two, that was previously his best.

  But that was also near the ocean, a hundred feet from shore, with more room to move. And there were walls he could have climbed if he’d gotten himself into trouble. The infected were also slowed by the intermittent pockets of sand and the wet weather. The conditions that day were ideal for a record-breaker.

  Today they weren’t.

  Although he was feeling good—strong and fast—much better than yesterday. And, no matter what his friends might think, he wasn’t out here trying to be a hero.

  Mason Thomas sat atop a dark blue sanitation truck peering out over the area between two derelict buildings. The first and second floors of the former textile warehouse to his left were layered in overgrown ivy. Everything above, all the way to the fourth-floor roofline, was blackened by fires and the many years of neglect. However, he noted two windows—side by side—along the third floor that were still intact. Covered in a dirty brown film, but somehow, after all this time, unbroken.

  Odd, he thought.

  Back to the growing crowd, he began to count heads. Ethan had guaranteed him at least fifty, and said that he’d try for a few more, but didn’t like the idea of having to explain any of this to Savannah or his sister.

  So Mason would confirm it for himself.

  When he reached twenty-seven, he noticed something he hadn’t before. There was an overturned sedan. It was once silver or maybe white, but now the rust building along its passenger side faintly reflected the morning sun, temporarily obscuring the man attempting to crawl out of the rear window.

  Mason made a mental note to go there once he was finished with the others. He’d count it, but only as half a point.

  To the right of the forgotten vehicle and running the length of the quarter mile void between the two destroyed buildings, a path of broken glass littered the cracked asphalt. He’d stay left and then cross over at the fifty yard mark. That would put him in line with the gate Ethan now stood above.

  A quick ten second sprint to the wall, and then a clean escape. At least that’s how he pictured it going. There were more than a few newly infected in the crowd, although he figured they were spaced too far apart to pose any real threat.

  He’d watch for them, keep his distance, and be sure to give them the attention they deserved. It wasn’t every day he’d get this chance, and at the same time chip away at the horde that continued to grow outside the walls of the abandoned shopping mall that he and his friends had been lucky enough to call home for more than three years.

  Harbor Crest. At just over one million square feet, the abandoned mall he had stumbled into—half dead and having lost his will to live—had become his home. It needed work, but was something he could throw himself into. Rebuild a life that was worth living. Having to say goodbye to his wife and his son in the first few months of the initial outbreak nearly ended him.

  If not for the courage and commitment of a handful of people, those he now called family, he would have taken his last breath out on that highway. By the side of the road, bloodied and battered, at the hands of the infected. He owed them the same courage, the same commitment. He owed them everything.

  That’s why he was out here.

  They wouldn’t understand his methods, but they would thank him all the same.

  Mason smiled as he pulled a black two-way radio from his hip, letting out a stilted laugh. Yeah right.

  “Ethan?”

  There was a short pause and then his friend’s voice. “You know this isn’t—”

  Mason keyed the mic, cutting off Ethan. He sat up straight and looked toward the wall his friend stood atop, over a hundred yards away. “Let’s just get this over with, you can tell me all about why this was a bad idea on the walk back.”

  “You gonna finally tell her what you’re doing out here?”

  “Savannah?”

  His friend made a point of laughing into the radio before continuing. “For starters.”

  Mason shook his head, the smile growing across his face. “You really want to put an end to the only thing in this life I still enjoy?”

  “Not even going to address how deeply disturbing that is …” There was a short burst of static. “And, I’m sure Savannah may have an issue with it as well.”

  His friend was right, and he was kidding. Mostly.

  “How we looking? I lost count.”

  Ethan was back, much quicker than he was expecting. “Uh, fifty-five just passed through.” His friend was now breathing hard, sounded like he was struggling. “Just … trying to … get this gate—”

  “Hold on.”

  This was good. Mason turned his gaze back toward the crowd. He could do this. He was seeing his path, from beginning to end. There wasn’t even a question at this point. He was going to get through, back to his friends.

  He was going to do this, right now.

  “What?” Ethan was back. Still out of breath, but his voice now held a hint of irritation. “What is it Mason?”

  He brushed the dust from his sleeve, lifted his face toward the early morning sun, and estimated he had an hour to get back inside the gates of Harbor Crest before there would be questions he may not be able to answer.

  Maybe less.

  He grinned, running his hand over the two day growth along his chin.

  Probably less.

  “Let another five through.” Mason stood, taking up a baseball bat that sat near his left foot. “Then close it up.”

  “That’s not a good—”

  With the crowd now starting to take notice of him atop the dark blue sanitation truck, he turned down the volume on his radio, tucked it back into his belt, and tightened the straps on his pack. He slipped down onto the hood and tapped the bat on the windshield. “Time to kill some Feeders.”

  As the full attention of the crowd began to slowly turn his way, he leapt from the hood, glancing back toward Ethan as he stepped away from the truck. He quickly moved left, rolled his shoulders and then his neck, stretching away the stiffness that had built over the last thirty minutes.

  “Mason …”

  It was just barely audible over the growing guttural moans coming from the crowd, but he’d heard it. And before he could begin to reach for his radio, Ethan’s voice came again.

  “Mason … wait.”

  His friend was still winded, but there was something in his voice that wasn’t there a minute ago. It was only three words, and it was faint, but he’d caught it. The way he paused in between each word, the rushed tone, the sucking of air as his voice faded.

  Mason took a calculated step back toward the truck. He figured he had a full five seconds before he was at the point of no return, and then looked out past the crowd to where Ethan stood atop the …

  His friend was gone. He didn’t have the best vantage from where he now stood, but the spot his friend occupied only seconds before was still in full view.

  Mason swiped the radio from his hip. “Ethan?”

  No response.

  “Ethan, stop screw
ing around.”

  Nothing.

  Once more, this time the volume in his voice carrying over the open space. “ETHAN, COME ON!”

  Again, nothing but the slight morning breeze and the slow march of the crowd filling the space between the buildings.

  Mason dropped the radio into his pocket, lifted the bat onto his right shoulder and eyeing the massive crowd, started toward the right flank.

  “Hold tight buddy, I’m on my way.”

  2

  Feeders.

  They had called them many things over the years, but there was no denying it. These things fed on human flesh. They were slow moving, and without an ounce of anything resembling humanity. The infected were practically a separate species. They bled slower, clotting almost immediately. They never slept, never rested, never took a seat on a park bench and stared up at the sky. They never spoke, never made eye contact with one another, and never seemed to do any of the things that made people … well people.

  They were also absolutely relentless in their pursuit of anything with a heartbeat, even at the expense of their own ever-decaying bodies

  Mason had seen many things over the last several years, but nothing quite as disturbing as the time he witnessed a petite woman claw her way through a window trying to get to him. Recently turned, she shattered the glass with her bare hands and then proceeded to tear away not only her clothing, but nearly all the flesh from her neck and chest as she pulled herself through the narrow opening and out onto the sidewalk.

  It was something he would never forget, and although he wasn’t able to appreciate what it was at the time, he was in some small way thankful for the gruesome reminder of what these things actually were. It was something he and his friends needed, something that kept them sharp, kept them on their toes, kept them alive.