by Ralph Gibbs
Unsure of what to do, Donavan started to get up
“No, no. You go ahead.” Wade said. “I’ll join in later.”
Before the president’s speech, the plan had been simple. Let Donavon, a convicted sex offender who lived with his mom, rape, and murder his wife. Afterward, he would kill the boy, claiming self-defense and then sit back and collect Ivory’s life insurance policy. The money would hold him over until he could find another affluent woman he could manipulate as easily as Ivory. Now though, he was convinced, as much as he was hopeful, that modern civilization was on the verge of collapse and the only way to survive the coming apocalypse was to be surrounded by people willing to do whatever he needed. Donavan was such a person. But his services would come at a cost, and Ivory was the first down payment. If he was wrong about the collapse, he could still kill Donavan. He would just have to change up the story a little bit. All the evidence would still point to a convicted sex offender.
An hour later, grabbing an apple from the refrigerator, Wade walked to the bedroom and found Donavan lying spent beside his wife, cuddling beside her as if they were intimate lovers. Ivory’s aged face was now bruised and bloodied. Dried blood caked her left breast where Donavan had bitten off her nipple.
“I didn’t think you were ever coming back,” Donavan said. “Are you ready?” Donavon’s penis was instantly hard again.
“I am,” Wade said, putting the apple on the nightstand. Ivory was too physically and mentally exhausted to resist. All she could do was shed tears of pain and humiliation. Neither man was moved to sympathy as both were void of emotion, one born, the other shaped.
Later, holding the apple with his teeth, Wade pulled on his pants as Donavan punched Ivory in the mouth while he had another orgasm. Several teeth were now missing and both eyes swollen shut.
“You done?” Donavan asked, pausing.
“For now,” Wade said as he moved a chair near the window. “If you don’t kill her, we can have another go later.” He turned on the television as Donavon bit off Ivory’s remaining nipple and ate it. The news was filled with images of a CNN reporter being killed. Watching the murder made him feel as if he’d won the lottery, and it filled him with subdued excitement. He was born for what was coming. He was also looking forward to no longer having to hide the fact that he was a psychopath.
Ever since he was young, Wade knew he was different. Unlike Donavan, who grew up with an abusive, alcoholic father and an unattractive, overweight mother who started molesting him after his ninth birthday, Wade grew up in a loving, caring environment. The first indication he was different came at seven. He and his twin sister, Rebecca, watched the neighbor’s Doberman get run over by a moving van. It was a brutal death. The Doberman got caught up in the van’s back wheels and dragged for twenty feet, leaving pulverized bones, smeared brains and meaty chunks of body parts in its wake. The driver never stopped. His sister didn’t stop screaming for three days. He almost killed her to shut her up. Still, where his sister was traumatized, he was only curious.
Nearly a week after the dog’s death, he heard his parents talking about his lack of emotion. They thought he might be in shock and that it would be a good idea to take him to see a child psychologist. That evening, he pretended to break down. It was his first experience faking emotions and a valuable lesson as to what could happen if he didn’t learn to blend in. It wouldn’t be until years later that he discovered on the Internet that he was a psychopath. He only cared to the extent the knowledge helped him understand himself.
Thanks to Hollywood’s depiction of psychopaths, the word was now synonymous with serial killers, but he was no serial killer. He could claim credit for only one death and only because he didn’t see an alternative. In the upcoming new reality, that would change. He would likely become the serial killer society feared him to be.
After his twin sister moved to Oregon, eager to be as far away from him as possible, his mother developed Alzheimer’s. Once struck with the disease, the money stopped flowing. Everything went to pay her bills. To get what remained, he persuaded his mother to make him the executor of her estate and, shortly thereafter, when it was cold and snowy, drove her down the road, walked her into the woods and left her to die.
Afterward, he sold everything and moved away. Though suspicious, his sister never said a word fearing what would happen if she did. A few years later, he met Ivory. Because she had her own money and gave him whatever he wanted, he was content. There was never a need to kill to get what he wanted, until now.
Looking out the window, Wade spotted Danica, who lived across the street, walking to her neighbor’s house with Matthew in tow. Curious, he picked up a pair of binoculars to get a better look and watched as she handed him a bottle of pills.
“What are you looking at?” Donavan asked, slipping his arms around Wade’s waist and resting his chin on the man’s shoulders.
“Danica. Do you know her?”
“Not really. She was a sophomore when I was a senior, different circle. She is beautiful, though. Better than this pig. I’d love to have her.”
“It would stir up too much trouble. We don’t need that.” He watched a moment longer. “Her mother’s a nurse, isn’t she?”
“I believe so.”
“She gave Matthew a bottle of medicine,” Wade said.
“The news said antibiotics weren’t effective.”
“They probably said that to keep people from rioting when the drugs run out.”
“That would make sense. Maybe we should kill the kid and take the drugs. Wade’s thinking was running along the same lines.
CHAPTER 10
Danica, with her father’s light gray North Carolina state trooper shirt tucked into her jeans and a pistol holstered to her side, loaded Bailey in the back seat and pushed the garage door opener. As Danica stuffed her hair under her father’s hat, she noticed two sets of tennis shoes. At first, she wondered why anyone would leave shoes in her driveway. It wasn’t until both sets ran off that she realized people were still in them. Startled, she pulled her father’s shotgun from the quick-release mount.
“Who’s out there?” Danica yelled, weapon at the ready.
“What’s the matter?” Bailey said, looking out the patrol car’s back window.
“Stay here,” she said, locking the car.
Playing peek-a-boo with the blind spots, the gun tucked tightly against her shoulder, just as her father taught her, Danica slowly advanced out the garage, adrenaline rushing through her body. She made a wide arc around the side of the garage, careful to keep the patrol car in view at all times. Figuring they must have run off, she relaxed. She flirted with the idea of firing a shot in the air to scare off any would-be intruders but decided against it. It went against training, and the shots would frighten Matthew. She was already feeling guilty for leaving him alone.
After hanging up with her dad, Danica had dropped Matthew off at his home explaining she would be back in a couple of hours. She had tried to reach Erica, but the call went to voicemail. Finally, she left a long, detailed message explaining that she was taking her brother to the hospital and didn’t want to bring Matthew along since he wasn’t showing signs of infection. She explained if she were caught dropping Bailey off, they would most likely force him, and anyone with him, into quarantine. She apologized over and over but explained it was for the best and hoped she would forgive her. She also left a note explaining the situation taped to Erica’s front door in case she didn’t get the voicemail.
Convinced that the owners of the shoes were gone, she backed the patrol car into the street and turned on the blue lights and siren in the hopes they would be frightened off if she were wrong. When Matthew showed his face in the living room window, she waved goodbye as if that were her intent.
There was an eerie feeling driving through the housing complex. Back when the development was under construction, real estate agents dubbed the area the Goldilocks location because it was located far enough away from the city
to convince prospective white-collar workers that they were safe from inner-city criminals and close enough to convince blue-collar workers the drive uptown was effortless. Although the name started as a joke, it stuck, and Goldilocks Meadows became home to a unique blend of middle-class workers eager to share their lives with their neighbors. That was fifteen years ago. Today, with the expansion of the city and the monorail line, Goldilocks was more like Papa Bear, a little too hard. Breaking and entering was more common, and drugs were easier to find. Because several cops lived in the area, gangs that were a problem in some regions of Charlotte had yet to infiltrate the housing development.
A few miles from the development, Danica turned onto the main street leading to the hospital and slammed on the breaks. Until she turned, the drive had been isolated and uneventful, but now it was as if she had walked out of a monastery of silent monks and stumbled onto the coastline at Normandy, just as the allies were storming the beach. Cars, trucks, and SUVs were strewn everywhere. To Danica’s relief, none were over-turned or burning, though more than a few had broken windows. Instead, the vast majority of cars were packed with goods looted from nearby stores.
“What’s going on?” Bailey asked, sitting up and looking around.
“Nothing honey,” Danica said. “Lie back down.”
A teenage boy ran in front of the patrol car carrying an electronic guitar. He stopped in front of the cruiser and presented her with a smile and the finger to show he wasn’t afraid. Half a dozen other people came out, and when they saw her, scattered. No one on the street walked with empty hands. There was even a man using the appliance store’s hand trucks to cart away a new stove. Behind him, two men hauled off a washing machine. More than a handful of people were coming out of the ice cream parlor’s broken front door eating a cone as if it was any other ordinary warm spring day.
“I’m thirsty,” Bailey said.
Up ahead, she saw a Hispanic man in his early twenties pushing a grocery basket loaded with food. Tucked in the bottom rack were two cases of bottled water. He seemed to be the smartest man on the street. Food and water would be essential in the days ahead. She rolled down her window as she came up beside him.
“Hey, officer,” the man said nervously. “I didn’t steal this. I found it in the alleyway.”
“I’m sure you did,” she said, doubt obvious in her voice. “Let me have two bottles, and you can be on your way.”
“Sure thing,” the man said, digging into the plastic wrap. “Take them with my compliments.”
“Thank you,” she said, driving off. As she drove away, she watched the man rush up a side street in her rearview mirror. Two suspicious-looking men followed him, and she guessed they were either his partners or his ownership of the basket was coming to an end. Ahead of her was a maze of abandoned vehicles, including a city bus. How did this happen so fast? Was she totally clueless? Had the plague been running rampant for months and she was just now hearing about it? She didn’t think so, but the street looked as if the looting rampage had begun weeks ago. Could people really lose their cool this quick? She looked in the rearview mirror again at the alleyway the Hispanic man had disappeared down.
“Dammit,” she said, shoving the car into reverse. She drove backward until she passed the side street. Turning in, she saw exactly what she suspected; all three men were fighting, two trying to take the cart, one trying desperately to maintain possession. She slammed on the breaks. The squeal of her tires alerted the men to her presence. Seeing her, the assailants ran off. The man who gave her the water sat down to catch his breath.
“Thank you, officer,” he said after a moment.
“No problem. You going to be all right?”
He got to his feet. “I’ll be fine. I owe you one.”
“We’re even,” she said as she backed out of the alley.
Danica passed a looted jewelry store and an untouched bail bondsman’s office next to it. She figured the looters didn’t want to bite the hand that fed them, but as she passed by, she spotted the owner standing in front of the large glass window holding a shotgun. That probably helped keep his office untouched.
A mile up the road, Danica passed a crowded grocery store. There wasn’t an empty parking spot to be found. A dozen cars circled the parking lot like vultures waiting for a space to come open. A few, not wanting to wait, made their own spot even if it meant blocking in others. Outside the store’s entrances, two men stood guard armed with shotguns. Two more similarly armed men stood inside. All four wore surgical masks. As she watched, several women pushing carts full of food left the store. When they reached the middle of the parking lot, a small group of men appeared from behind a truck, pushed the women down, and attempted to steal their carts. The women fought back, throwing wild punches. Danica was aghast. Why was this happening? She realized the country was in the midst of an epidemic, but it would pass. She doubted the United States was in danger of a food shortage, so why was everyone acting as if they would starve?
She waited for the store guards to do something, but they just stood there smirking. One woman hit her assailant with her purse knocking him to the ground. Angry, the man picked himself up and pulled a knife. She turned to run but was grabbed from behind by another man. Danica saw enough. She flipped on the lights and siren and jumped the curve, catapulting Bailey off the back seat.
“What the hell?” Bailey yelled. The man holding the woman dropped her and ran when he saw the cruiser speeding toward them. Three of the four remaining men grabbed whatever food they could and ran off, as well. Only the man with the knife remained, too angry to care. Danica screeched to a halt, grabbed the shotgun from its mount and leaped from the vehicle.
“Drop the knife, asshole,” Danica yelled as she leveled the shotgun at the man’s chest. She chambered a round for emphasis. Her dad always said that of all the weapons in the world, none got the attention of a perpetrator more than the sound a shotgun chambering a round. For that reason alone, he made sure a round was never loaded into the barrel until needed. Danica felt, more than saw, a man coming up behind her.
“Look out!” a woman screamed.
Danica dropped to her knee. Her would-be assailant, who was going for a bear hug, grabbed air instead and stumbled over her. Danica followed up by slamming the butt of her weapon into his gut. As he doubled over on the pavement, she slammed the gun into his face. She heard cartilage break.
The knife-wielder looked like he wanted to rush Danica.
“Don’t,” she said swiftly, pointing the shotgun at him. “Just drop the fucking knife.” The man looked around as if weighing his options before letting the knife fall to the ground.
“All right officer,” the man said, raising his hands.
“Pick up your friend and get the hell out of here,” Danica shouted, angrily.
“You’re not going to arrest me?” he said, surprised.
“Less talking, more leaving,” Danica said.
“You broke my nose,” the man screamed from the ground, blood gushing from between his fingers.
“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about attacking defenseless women,” Danica said. “Now, get out of here before I change my mind and blow off your kneecaps.” The men ambled off.
“You’re not going to arrest them?” one women asked as she started to put items back into her cart. The other woman didn’t bother to wait for an answer. She hurriedly pushed her cart toward her car before something else happened.
“I’m sorry,” Danica said. “I can’t. I don’t have the time. I’m on the way to the hospital to deliver a sick patient.” She didn’t tell the woman she wasn’t a real state trooper. Her intervention was something she wasn’t planning on telling her father about, either.
The woman backed away. “You’ve been exposed?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman put a few of the undamaged items back in the cart and started for her car. “Thank you,” she said, leaving some of her items behind, “but I have to go.”
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Danica watched the women leave and then turned her attention to the guards at the door. They nodded in greeting but otherwise said nothing. She thought about giving them a piece of her mind but thought better of it. They would probably just laugh.
As Danica started to leave, she realized her hands were shaking. It was the first time in her life she’d been in a fight. Growing up as the daughter of a state trooper, and in a clan of overzealous cops, she had learned early in life how to defend herself. She always felt if the situation ever warranted, she could hold her own. Danica smiled. It was nice to have affirmation, but affirmation didn’t stop her hands from shaking.
CHAPTER 11
“What did you run for?” Wade asked irritated as they emerged from behind Erica’s shed. If he were carrying a knife—and he had half a mind to get one—he would have slit Donavan’s throat right then and there for stupidity.
“I was afraid she would catch us,” Donavan said, unsure why Wade was upset.
“Who cares?” Wade said, aggravated. “We’re just a couple people concerned for our neighbors. Neighbors checking on neighbors don’t run off suspiciously.”
“I’m sorry,” Donovan said, sounding like a whipped puppy. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“Start.”
“What was with the lights and siren?”
“She was trying to scare off a couple of suspicious characters,” Wade said, less irritable.
“You think it worked?” Donavan asked, smiling. It was a joke, but Wade didn’t laugh. “What are we going to do?”
Wade tried the side door to the garage and found it unlocked. “I think we need to make sure Matthew’s safe. He’s too young to be by himself.” He wasn’t so lucky with the door leading into the house.
