“The headlines again,” continued the newsreader. “The president has declared a national state of emergency following the loss of global satellite communications. This comes less than twenty-four hours after the government forced the stock exchanges to close early. There’s been widespread failure of cell networks, as well as the loss of internet access and electronic banking services.
“The president has mandated that food and water rations be distributed countrywide within the next seven days – a sign that the White House is anticipating ongoing disruption. This followed the announcement that the National Guard are being deployed across every city in the country. Which brings us back to this morning’s hot topic: conspiracy or calamity? Our first guest in the studio is Dr. Adriana St–”
Dan flicked the radio off.
“I’m not sure I can handle their ‘experts’ right now,” he said, as Lucy nudged the car forwards.
The roads made for infuriatingly slow progress, as every junction had to be approached with extreme caution now that the lights were out. Not that everyone was cautious. Lucy edged past another crammed bus bearing the brunt of the cancelled tram service.
“I think it’s left here,” said Dan, as they crawled towards another locked-up intersection.
Lucy hit the indicator, which clicked away busily in their motionless car. “We’re not gonna make it in time, Dan. They’ll know what’s going on by the time we get there. Other people will be listening to those radio reports.”
“We have to try,” he replied, while peering out of the window.
A stressed-looking traffic cop stopped them at the interchange, waving through a row of traffic from the adjacent side, before stopping that flow of traffic and rotating to a new lane. It took about four minutes before the cop returned to Dan and Lucy’s lane and signaled it was their turn to move off.
With one hand pointed at them, his other hand signaled the oncoming lane to stop. But three advancing cars began to accelerate. The cop’s whistle slipped a little as his jaw slackened, and his eyes widened in disbelief. He began furiously blowing and gesturing at them to stop, but it had no effect; the young drivers tore past him, flipping him the bird as they went. He grabbed his radio and barked flustered descriptions of the cars into it, then let it fall limply back into place on his drooped shoulder, as his eyes followed the last vehicle swerving off into the distance.
Some people behind began to lean on their horns and the cop snapped back to reality, hastily waving Lucy and Dan through.
“Go left here,” instructed Dan, directing her onto a quieter backstreet. “We might be able to circumvent some of this traffic.”
Up ahead two men were hammering a large piece of wooden paneling to a convenience-store window, a pile of smashed glass beneath their boots.
“Are you sure, Dan? I’m not feeling this neighborhood so much.”
A rusty white car pulled up alongside a decrepit blue Cadillac in front of them. A hand extended out of the white car’s window and was met by another from the Cadillac. The exchange only took an instant, then the rusty white car was gone.
Lucy determinedly avoided making eye contact with the parked-up dealers and picked up the pace to get past them.
Further down the street a woman was walking down the sidewalk clad in a large sandwich board with the word REPENT printed across it. Odd snippets of the woman’s doomsday proclamations made it through into the car as they drove past, her words interspersed with the colorful array of insults being hurled at her by a pack of teenagers loitering on a corner not far from where she marched. The teens were falling about with laughter, doing impressions of the lady, making crude sexual gestures at her, while she for her part instructed them in vivid detail about how exactly they were all going to burn in the fires of hell for eternity. The teens didn’t seem overly concerned by that.
“Hey, Luce, pull over! Pull over – right there, a payphone! Why didn’t I think of it before?”
“Pull over? Here? Do you want us to get mugged?”
“We’ll be quick – but this could be our only chance! I need to try and speak to Dad again, he said something was … I just need to speak to him, alright?”
Lucy looked around in the mirrors; the blue Cadillac was out of sight now, and the teens were a good way off.
“OK,” she said, bringing the car up to the sidewalk, “but I don’t see what good it’ll do if the networks are down.”
“Payphones get their power direct from the landline phone network,” said Dan, pushing the door open. “They’re separate to the rest of the grid!”
Lucy got out with him. Cigarette butts dotted the pavement, the nicotine ghosts of recent callers. By the looks of it, those people – wherever they were now – had been standing in line for some time.
The phone hung freely off its hook about a yard from the dirty concrete ground, swinging fractionally in a micro convection current. Dan picked the receiver up and put it to his ear, shoving a handful of quarters into the coin slot.
“Come on … come on …” he muttered as he punched in the number. “Please …” After a long pause he slumped forwards, pressing his head against the wall in disappointment.
“No luck?” asked Lucy, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder.
“I think the landline network’s down too. So much for my theory,” he replied, slamming the receiver back into its holster.
Lucy looked at the stickers of the local hookers that lined the walls of the booth.
“Let’s get back in the car,” she said, leading the way.
As she climbed back into the driving seat, metallic rattles echoed down the street. Lucy watched through the rear-view mirror as the youths threw empty beer cans at the doomsday lady. Apparently her attempts to baptize them were less than welcome.
“We should keep looking for phone booths as we go,” said Dan. “Maybe that one was a blip. Stop if you see one, yeah?”
“How about we just focus on getting the gun first,” said Lucy, pulling away with a wary eye on the teenagers.
“We can do both,” insisted Dan. “The surplus store can’t be far from here. We’re in the right area. We need to head right – here.”
Lucy slowed to a crawl as they had done for most of the junctions to date and caught a snapshot of conversation from the locals loitering outside their homes. Wherever they’d driven that day, the talk had been the same. None of my shit’s working … I can’t get on Facebook … How am I supposed to watch my show now? Lucy was shocked at how myopic the complaints were. It was like no one else was taking the situation seriously. Maybe some of them were – but they weren’t the ones people-watching and drinking beer from their porches.
As she swung the car right, they were met by a police roadblock stretching across both sides of the street. A lone cop stood before them, his car turned side-on to the traffic flow, its lights flashing and a small orange wing of cones extending from either side, along with tire-shredding spike strips.
“You’ll have to turn around here folks, this road’s closed,” said the officer, one hand conspicuously resting on his gun holster.
“OK, officer. Can I ask why the road’s closed?” Lucy replied.
“There’s a minor disturbance up ahead. We’re just taking precautionary measures to keep the situation under control.”
“A disturbance?” questioned Lucy. “We’re trying to get to the army surplus store. Will we be able to take a different route there?”
“I wouldn’t head there, ma’am, that’s where the trouble is. Believe me, you don’t wanna get caught up in that. Best head home, if I were you. Most of the stores are closed now anyhow.”
“We just –” began Dan, but Lucy interrupted, seeing the officer’s hand move to his holster and slowly pop the button.
“Of course, officer. Thank you for your help,” she said, putting the car into reverse and carefully turning it around.
“What did you cut me off for?” protested Dan as they left the cop.
&nb
sp; “He was reaching for his gun, Dan! That guy was jumpy. I didn’t wanna piss him off. He’s probably more on edge than we are – think about it, those guys are on the front line for whatever happens now.”
She looked into the rear-view mirror where the cop was talking into his radio as he rushed back to his car.
“Look!” she exclaimed, pointing to the mirror.
Dan turned in his seat, craning his neck to see behind him.
The officer slammed the door shut as he hurled himself into the driver’s seat and sped off down the street he’d closed, abandoning the traffic cones and spike strips behind him. Clearly the “minor disturbance” he’d referred to was becoming less minor.
“So your surplus place is out, then,” said Lucy, turning to Dan. “What now?”
“I don’t know,” sighed Dan, rubbing his face.
“Might be time to cut our losses,” suggested Lucy, tentatively.
“Agreed,” conceded Dan. “But keep looking for payphones on the way back. You never know.”
They continued to weave through the backstreets, avoiding the snared-up traffic arteries.
“Wait up,” said Dan, several minutes later, pointing across the road. “We should stop there.”
Lucy followed his line of sight to the drug store up ahead. As she pulled off the main road into the parking lot, a man hurried out and away from the store with something tucked firmly under his arm. He repeatedly checked over his shoulder as he rushed back to his car and away from the store.
Alongside the grocery displays, the windows were covered by pharmaceutical stickers and posters designed to convince you that your life would implode unless you took their latest drug.
“Have you got the money?” said Lucy, quietly, as they exited the car.
“Yup. Let’s be quick, though,” replied Dan, as he followed Lucy to the entrance.
She pushed one of the heavy, formerly automatic doors open and stepped inside the darkened store. Immediately before them stood a broad, suited man around seven feet tall, and a good three feet wide. His head was shaven, but his face was decorated by a long scar running from above one eye down to his cheekbone. Nestled next to the vertical line was the pockmark scarring of severe acne, giving the man something of a textured look. An ill-fitting black goatee jutted downwards from his chin, pointing towards a creased tie and a thick leather belt. His massive hands were clasped neatly over the buckle. Lucy’s eyes clocked the gold knuckleduster on his right hand, and as they approached he made a point of flashing his jacket back to show a couple of concealed handguns strapped to his body.
“Security,” he said bluntly as he blocked Lucy’s path. “Him first,” he said, gesturing to Dan to spread his arms in a T-shape.
“Are you serious?” said Dan, lifting his arms as the giant, who reeked of BBQ sauce, began patting him down for weapons.
Once satisfied Dan was clean, the man moved on to Lucy. She couldn’t tell if it was fear warping her perception, or if he really did spend longer on her than Dan, but it felt like a small eternity as his rough hands moved over her body. Finally, he stepped aside, waving them through with a slight cock of the head and a grunt.
They entered the drugstore. It was gloomy, the sunlight outside struggling to penetrate the layer of neurosis-inducing film that covered the store windows. Lucy blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the new surroundings. At the back of the store, behind a counter cordoning off the prescription drugs, stood a stern-looking woman. Her face was cold, severe, and calculating. As they approached the desk, Lucy was acutely aware that drugstores did not usually have security with knuckledusters. She was already starting to regret their decision.
“Hey there,” began Dan.
The woman didn’t so much as blink.
“Excuse me,” he persisted. “We need some antibiotics please.”
“Amoxicillin,” whispered Lucy, leaning into Dan’s ear. “My doctor gave it to me when I had strep throat. I remember her saying it was broad spectrum.”
Dan turned back to the woman behind the counter. “How much for a course of amoxicillin?”
“Four hundred dollars,” replied the woman.
“How much?” blurted Lucy.
“Bitch, you deaf?” snapped the lady. “Four hundred. Per pack.”
Lucy looked around at Dan incredulously, then back at the woman’s dispassionate face. “Are you serious? Those pills have been off patent for decades. They’re generic, they cost like half a cent to produce!”
“And now they cost four hundred dollars to buy.”
“That’s extortion!” cried Lucy.
“Omar!” yelled the woman, calling the giant security guard over.
“OK, OK, no need for that,” said Dan, drawing out his bulging wallet. “We’ll take them.”
“What?” objected Lucy, but Dan ignored her.
“And we’ll take some fluco … fluco … dammit, what’s it called?”
“Flucloxacillin!” snapped Lucy, still seething.
“Yes! We’ll take some of that too.”
“That stuff’s five hundred,” said the woman.
“Will you do me three packs of each for two thousand?” asked Dan, counting out two thousand dollars.
“Jesus, Dan, what are you doing?” hissed Lucy, trying to wrestle his outstretched hands away from the counter while the woman stared at him, boring into his soul with her mercenary eyes. He finished counting and held out the wad.
The lady looked them both up and down several times.
“Deal,” she finally uttered, immediately snatching the money from Dan’s hand. She held the notes up over her shoulder, and called out behind her without taking her eyes off Dan. “Kyle!”
A thin, nervous-looking younger man emerged from the back of the pharmacy section. From the age gap, he could have been her son, or her lover, Lucy couldn’t tell which. Either way, the relationship looked deeply unhealthy.
“Four packs of pills for the white girl,” snapped the woman.
“We said six packs!” protested Dan.
“Yeah? And now I say it’s four packs. Or you wanna piss me off some more and make it two?”
Dan bit his lip and said nothing, but Lucy heard one of his knuckles crack as his fists clenched by his side. Omar heard the crack too and rustled behind them as he shifted weight from one giant foot to the other, readying himself for the fight.
“What … what medication did you want?” said the nervous pharmacy assistant, looking at Lucy and Dan.
“Amoxicillin and flucloxacillin,” said Dan, through clenched teeth.
“Exactly! That’s what I said, ain’t it?” cried the woman, slamming the counter with her hand. “Now go get it.”
Dan and Lucy stood rooted to the spot. No one spoke as they waited. The woman’s cold eyes fixed on Lucy, who clenched her core as tightly as she could to suppress the tremor creeping into her stance.
After a few minutes, the boy returned carrying four packets of antibiotics, which he placed down on the counter.
“That box says ampicillin,” Lucy whispered to Dan.
“What’s that, white girl? These ain’t good enough for you?” jeered the woman.
Lucy’s eyes fell on a thin trail of blood droplets that led from the counter off into the back of the pharmacy.
“No, these are fine,” replied Lucy, reaching out to pick up the packs.
“Ah-ah,” said the woman, casting her hand out and grabbing Lucy’s before it touched any of the packets.
Her powerful fingers squeezed hard around Lucy’s wrist; long, sharp nail extensions dug into Lucy’s skin.
“Let me get you a bag for that,” sneered the woman, smiling for the first time as she reached under the counter and retrieved a branded bag into which she began ceremoniously placing each pack. Lucy preferred the woman’s previous expression to the unsettled smile now residing on her lips. “Have a great day,” crowed the woman, as she placed the last pack into the bag and slid the lot over the counter. Dan grabbe
d the package without another word and took Lucy by the hand, hastening from the shop, squeezing past Omar who made no effort to get out of their way.
They pulled the car doors open and threw themselves inside the vehicle. Lucy tried to put the keys in the ignition, but her hands were shaking violently. Dan reached over and helped steady her, his own hands cold and clammy.
“Let’s go,” he said, a thought that hardly needed to be articulated, with Omar’s gaze once again upon them from his new sentry post outside the store front.
Lucy revved the engine and pulled out of the parking lot at speed, only to immediately swerve out of the way as two black SUVs came screaming around the corner and across her lane.
“Jesus Christ!” Dan shouted, looking over his shoulder. Lucy instinctively flinched at the ensuing racket, staring into the mirror as bullets sprayed from the SUVs’ windows, cutting Omar down where he stood. Half a dozen men with semi-automatics and handguns leapt from the vehicles and stormed the drugstore, with more gunshots ensuing as Lucy drove as fast as she could in the opposite direction.
“What the fuck just happened? What the fuck just happened?” she screamed, as they hurtled down the long road.
“Just keep driving, Luce, don’t think about it, OK?” said Dan, his own voice wavering. His tongue tripped over syllables as he spoke. “It’s gone. They’ve gone … It’s happened. We need to get home. We can think about it there.” His neck was craned backwards, looking for signs of pursuit. “We can think there,” he said again, as he turned to face forward, the color drained from his cheeks.
“Home?” replied Lucy, equally pale. “The city’s going to shit and it’s day one! This is San Francisco, for Christ’s sake, and they just executed someone in broad daylight! Jesus, Dan, we have to get out of here completely!”
“And go where, Luce? Where do we go? You know what Dad said – everywhere will be turning like this now. Everywhere. We’ve gotta get home and lay low. We’ve got everything we need now. We just need to get home.”
“Oh my god, Cassie!” cried Lucy. “She doesn’t have any idea what’s going on – Dan, we have to warn her!”
“What? Are you for real?”
Convulsive Box Set Page 2
