“There’s no one at the check-outs.” Richard pointed.
He was indeed on the ball. For a long-haired, dope-smoking camera operator, he impressed the hell out of Mike.
“Yeah, I think the customers here aren’t the paying kind. This might work… just might work.”
“What are you planning?”
“Simple. Instead of going in there for supplies, where we’ll be outnumbered and outgunned, we wait for them to bring the supplies out to us.” Mike slapped a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “We’ll kill more than two birds at once, too.”
“How do you figure?”
“We’ll get some food—though we can’t be too fussy—a vehicle, and most of all, we’ll get a damn phone!”
“What if—”
Mike grabbed Richard by the collar of his jacket as three men in cowboy hats barged through the double-glass doors of the Fareway market. Two pushed market trolleys overloaded while the biggest of the three “rode shotgun,” openly carrying a large caliber stainless steel revolver and, what’s more, looked ready to use it.
“Here comes our food delivery,” Mike said, his voice instinctively hushed to a whisper. “Let’s see which vehicle they get in.”
Mike stood where he was, making no attempt to conceal himself—that would look suspicious.
“The Dodge 2500 pickup,” Richard said.
“Quick, let’s go!” Mike took the pistol from the top of his pants.
“Wait. Shouldn’t we…ahh, fuck!”
The three in the cowboy hats loaded the last of grocery bags into the pickup, when Mike came up from behind.
“Drop the gun, cowboy!”
The gun carrier froze in place, his hands stretched out, but he didn’t drop the gun.
“Do as he-he says,” Richard ran up next to Mike. “Please!”
“You two,” Mike referred to the unarmed men, “put your hands on the sides of the truck. Do it!”
While the two complied, Mike returned his attention to the armed man.
“Now, are you deaf or does that hat give you another level of stupid?”
The cowboy remained as still as a statue, but refused to drop the gun.
“I SAID DROP THE FUCKING GUN!”
“Do it, Hobey. He looks crazy, he gonna shoot us,” one of the other men called.
Yeah…that’s right. I am crazy, and if you believe any the shit that you’ve heard about what’s happenin’, then you know why I’m crazy. It’s real and it’s going to get bad, real bad. Now drop the fucking gun.”
The cowboy bent at the knee and let the revolver fall from his hand.
“Okay, now you step over there and put your hands on the side of the truck, just like your buddies. Richard, pick up the gun.”
“But—”
“Now, Richard.”
As Richard moved in to pick up the six-shooter, the cowboy turned his head slightly and asked, “Are you talkin’ ‘bout this flu mister, is it going to get worse?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“So you gonna take our supplies and leave us with nothing?”
“Something like that. Now who has the keys to the truck?”
“I-I have them, I—”
“Get ‘em, and open the back doors,” Mike ordered Richard, but didn’t take his eyes off the big cowboy. “Now your cell phones, throw them into the back seat.”
“What? We need to call—shit!”
Mike fired a single round from the 9mm into the side panel of the truck, just inches from the protesting cowboy—who now wasn’t so tough without his revolver.
“Keep whining, hop-a-long, and I’ll be callin’ an ambulance for you. Now throw your fuckin’ cell phone into the back seat!”
As soon as Mike saw the three men throw their cells into the pickup, he got moving.
“Okay close the doors, let’s go!” he said to Richard, and then to the three men, “See that Chrysler over there? The keys are in it. If you wanna get out take it, but also take my advice. Get as far away from Des Moines as you can. Grab your families—if they’re not behind the barriers—and get out. Tonight, do you hear me. Do it tonight!”
Before driving away, Mike left the big cowboy’s revolver—now unloaded—on the ground.
“That was the least you could have done—thanks.”
“What?” Mike glanced at Richard as he drove, his face contorted with confusion. “I don’t know what you mean?”
“You could have just left them, but you told them why they needed to get out and which car to use—and didn’t leave them unarmed.”
“Yeah, well…”
Mike tried to shrug it off, but Richard knew the tough guy routine and this one wasn’t pulling it off.
“If it’s anything like Grace says, then no one needs to be out there without a gun.”
“Should you have left them some ammunition?” Richard was quite concerned for the wellbeing of the strangers.
“I don’t think so. I’m sure a guy like that keeps extra.”
Richard thought about that for a moment. He’d witnessed the doctor, Grace Delaney, shoot three people —or so he believed at the time—through the lens of his camera and then saw Mike shoot two men in cold blood. But came to understand the reasons for it—finally. If Grace’s description of the frenzied behavior of the infected was true, would guns be enough?
“What are you doing, now?” Mike asked when Richard leaned over the back of the seat.
“Thought I’d check to see these phones work all right while you drive, problem with that?”
“Shit yeah. If those guys that held us captive are with or even connected to any intel agency, then they’ll be scanning the cell towers looking for a signal. When they find it, they’ll triangulate it and bingo! They’ll have us.”
“They can do that?”
“Easy. What, did you think it was only in the movies?”
Richard sat back into his seat and looked out at the homes, with the curtains pulled and the closed stores as they passed by. “Y’know I actually did.” He realized this was not a time to worry about appearing stupid.
“When we need to make the call,” Mike continued, “that’s when we’ll do it. But from another location. We’ll leave that phone—open—at that site we make the call from while we get away. We have three phones, so three calls.”
“Damn, you know your James Bond shit real good huh?”
“Just basic security sense, that all.”
As the two headed back to the factory where Grace and the others waited, the situation back at the grocery market turned for the worse.
“Jesus shit!” Hobey kicked at the ground then spat. “We gotta get those fuckers!”
“Y-you heard what he said, Hobey, and we seen it on the news… People are gettin’ sick, real sick and I think we should do as that feller’ said and get out a’here.”
“You do, do you?” Hobey picked up his revolver odd the ground. “Tell me, smartass, would you feel the same if it was your truck they just stole?” Hobey didn’t care for an answer. He found a speed loader in his denim jacket, reloaded his revolver, and headed for the Chrysler.
“Where you goin’ now, Hobey?”
“I’m gonna go kill those sons’a bitches!”
Smashing glass and high pitched screams from the market, interrupted his progress. Hobey and his two friends turned to the store, as a volley of gun shots was added to the mayhem.
“What the…”
“It’s a shootout, Hobey! They gone mad!”
Hobey moved closer for a better look.
“Careful, Hobey, be—”
The scene inside was one of chaos and desperation. Hobey was close enough to see several armed men take cover behind the cash registers, but they had their guns aimed at their nine, twelve, and three o’clock positions—every direction except the front of the store.
Who in the fuck are they shooting at? Hobey wondered, but not for long, as he received his answer in the most brutal of fashions.
M
ore than a dozen people rushed through the check-out area from the shopping aisles. A sickly, pallid complexion was clearly visible to Hobey even from the parking lot, as was their eyes—blood-filled eyes!
“J-J-Jeezuz, Hobey, let’s get the fuck outta here!”
Hobey stared in morbid fascination. He wanted to go, but he just had to see.
The blood-eyed ghouls were frenzied, desperate, in their actions and ran directly into the fire and launched themselves onto the gunmen, then proceeded to tear at their clothing—and their flesh. Ear-piercing screams resonated from the market and into the parking lot as the attackers sunk their teeth into their victims and—it appeared to Hobey and his buddies—drink their blood.
“Fuck me! Get to the car, quick!” Hobey yelled and felt a gurgle in his stomach.
His two companions didn’t have to be told twice and as they were closer, got to the old Chrysler first.
“Get it started!” Hobey called to the others, then stumbled as the gurgle became an acid fluid which gushed up his throat and all over his checked shirt.
Hobey made it to the car, wiping spew from his chin, and turned back to the market. The screaming had stopped, but the horror had just begun.
He wasted no time and jumped into the back seat. “Let’s go!”
The Chrysler took off from the parking lot as fast as it could go. The three occupants too speechless after what they’d witnessed. They fully intended to follow the advice of the man who had robbed them—get their families and get out of Des Moines. Hobey’s desire for revenge all but forgotten as they became aware of what they were truly up against.
“We’re gonna need more than vaccines to survive this,” Hobey finally said when they were more than a block away.
He hadn’t been right about much in his life, but this time he was spot-on.
12
Twelve
Mike drove the entire way to the factory with the headlights off—he didn’t need them. When he got to the delivery bay, he flashed them twice. The roller-door slowly opened—it had to be done manually—then drove in and out of sight.
“I see you got us a new vehicle and some supplies. What about a cell?” Grace asked the moment Mike and Richard stepped from the Dodge pickup.
“Yeah, we got three of them,” Richard said.
“C’mon I’ll tell you all about it,” Mike said. The relief evident in his strong features.
While Mike and Richard related the adventures to the others, reports of an attack at a Fareway market were coming in. Police and emergency personnel were the first in receipt of these reports, the National Guard Command in Des Moines was next in line. State and federal departments in control of the emergency also received the reports. This meant the CDC and its director.
Calgleef had sequestered himself away in his office after the lamentable press conference. He called his wife and told her that because of the worsening situation in Iowa, he would be required to work late. That was partially true, but mainly he was too intoxicated to drive. He also told her to pack some bags, grab cash and credit cards, and his Remington 12-gauge autoloader.
“Just do it, Ethel, please!” he ordered when she asked why, then added before ending the call, “I’ll explain later.”
If there will be a later.
He went to his computer and looked at the preliminary report of the fire that still burned in Riverside Hospital.
“A gas leak my ass!” he mocked the assessment of the first fire teams on sight.
The report came in an email to departments who had a need-to-know. This obviously meant the CDC, but as Calgleef searched to see who else might have received the report, his office phone went off.
He turned in his swivel chair to pick up the phone. “Calgleef.” He then paused while the caller identified themselves. “Yes, go on.”
An officer from FEMA informed the Director of the CDC of the attack at the market just beyond the perimeter around the city.
“My God…” Calgleef slumped in his chair. “How long ago?”
The FEMA office gave all the details he had before Calgleef thanked him and hung up.
“Outside of the barriers. We’re fucked now!” He sarcastically chuckled as he poured a drink from his new bottle. He made one trip from his office after the press conference—to get a burger, fries…and another bottle.
“We can’t contain it, and at the rate it’s communicated, the whole state will be affected in a week.” He continued as if he was talking to someone. He was quite aware of what he was doing. Was he going mad from all this? Or was it just the drink talking?
He couldn’t be bothered with such explanations he only wished he had never heard of Thorncroft. He cursed his greed as he sunk back in his chair.
“Fuck, what do I do now?”
Before he could answer his own question, his private cell phone came to life. That meant it was either Thorncroft or Jones.
“Yeah?”
“Calgleef?” The English accent confirmed the former.
“Yes, Mr. Thorncroft.”
“Oh, you sounded different, tired perhaps?”
“You might s-s-say.” Calgleef tried not to stutter, he didn’t want to telegraph that he’d been drinking. But in the end, he couldn’t care—not any more.
The cat was out of the bag and among the pigeons.
There was quite a delay before Thorncroft said, “The vaccines will be arriving shortly on the West Coast and then just a few hours later in Iowa. Good news, eh Calgleef?”
“Yes sir, that sounds terrific…” Who gives a fuck.
“Where will you start the first inoculations?”
“State health services will determine the distribution points. With the news of the Baltic flu now common knowledge, regular hospital and clinical staff will be in charge.”
“You sound somewhat disinterested, Calgleef. Is there a problem I’m not aware of?”
Calgleef could imagine how he sounded. He doubted anyone would note any confidence from him at present. But Thorncroft was a powerful man with friends in high places—and some low ones, too. With billions of dollars involved, there would be no question of the pharmaceutical magnate having him removed—even if he was the director of the CDC.
If I plan on getting out alive, I better continue to play along.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Thorncroft. It’s been a long day after an equally long night. I’ve just woken from a nap in my office. I took a sleeping tablet and they don’t agree with me, but I needed a few hours. I’m sure you understand.” It was quite an effort for Calgleef to sound so coherent—he hoped it would be enough to impress Thorncroft.
“Of course, my dear Mr. Calgleef. Of course I do.” Thorncroft sounded as patronizing as ever. “Sleeping pills don’t work for me either. Always make me sound like I’ve had too much to drink, you know what I mean?”
Yeah, Calgleef knew all right, and so did that bastard Thorncroft.
“I’ll let you catch up on your sleep then. Everything is going well. Don’t lose the faith, as you Americans say. Goodnight then.”
“As us Americans say…what the fuck?” Calgleef stared at his cell phone after he was certain Thorncroft had hung up. “Silly old fat faggot!” Calgleef had done some research on Thorncroft to pass time in his office, he even called a few people in the State Department and some friends in London. While the evidence was far from conclusive, the consensus supported the rumor that the CEO of Thorn Bio-Tech had a ravenous appetite for young men.
Calgleef wasn’t sure what to make of Thorncroft’s comments. Was he humoring him or playing with him like a fish at the end of a line? Either way, Calgleef felt the CEO would now have to monitor him more closely. His physical movements, his phone calls, and Internet usage. If Jones was indeed with Thorncroft, then it would be an easy undertaking.
Hell, Calgleef thought, the surveillance was probably already in place. It would just be upgraded to a higher priority.
He would wait, at least until morning when hopefully the new da
y and sobriety would allow him to weigh his options.
He would go home and spend the night with Ethel, he didn’t want to leave her alone. He wouldn’t—couldn’t tell her, not without revealing his involvement in the whole sordid affair. But he could say that as Director of the CDC, he’d seen the evidence that this virus had more than a mere foothold on this country and no vaccine was going to prevent its expansion. That alone should be reason enough to convince her to leave. A good time to go visit their daughter in New Zealand, perhaps—they hadn’t seen her since their granddaughter was born. He would go to the Bahamas first, then to Mexico or perhaps further south before taking a flight to New Zealand. It would be the only way to avoid the flight closures out of the United States.
13
Thirteen
After another less-than-comfortable night—but at least this time with food in their stomachs—Grace and her team prepared to make their calls. A bite to eat and some orange juice, courtesy of Hobey and his good ol’ boys, then down to business.
“Let’s check the radio for the news,” Mike said as he spooned another mouthful of cold baked beans from the can.
“Good idea! I hadn’t thought of that,” Grace said, her mind occupied with other matters.
Together, all five marched over to the Dodge 2500 down on the factory floor and Mike turned the keys to the accessories and switched on the radio.
Music, talk shows, commercials, Mike flipped through the stations until he found a news station. The main topic was the fire at Riverside Hospital and it went without saying it held their immediate attention.
When Grace heard the news announcer state, “…authorities at this stage believe the fire was caused by a gas leak in the basement and faulty wiring in an air conditioning unit,” she stared wide-eyed at the radio in disbelief.
“Grace… Grace! Are you all right?” Tilford asked her.
“I…err, no. Not really,” she said, then took a deep breath, and added, “I can’t believe they’re going to pass it off as accidental.”
Pestilence Boxed Set [Books 1 & 2] Page 21
