Okay, deep breath…this is it.
Epilogue
“You might want to check this out,” Eight Ball gave a nod as he offered the book to his boss.
“What the fuck is it?” his boss eyeballed him with an angry, almost challenging stare.
“Looks like a journal or somethin’. Pulled it off the guy we killed getting in here.”
“Yeah?” his boss shrugged. “So fuckin’ what? I care about some diary this guy was keeping all his fuckin’ hopes and dreams in? What, he’s a fucking little girl or something?”
Eight Ball shrugged, “Thought it might be important.” He leafed through the book. “Thought maybe it’d tell us somethin’.”
“Tell us what!?” his boss almost shouted. “How he fuckin’ brushed his hair before bed each night? Who he had a fuckin’ crush on in the sixth grade? Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ dumbass, Eight Ball. I don’t know why I keep you around.”
Eight Ball stared at the floor bashfully, ashamed, embarrassed by the berating. He was just trying to please his boss. He thought there might be something useful in the book. It must have been kind of important for the guy living here to still have it on him when he died. He continued to leaf through the book. As he did so, an envelope fell from within.
“What the fuck’s that?” Eight Ball’s boss nodded to the envelope that had landed near Eight Ball’s feet.
Eight Ball bent, picked it up, and pulled several sheets of paper from within.
“Give me that!” his boss commanded.
Eight Ball dutifully handed over the envelope.
“The goddamn papers too, you fuckin’ moron!” his boss barked.
“Uh huh,” Eight Ball grunted, handing over the papers.
“Christ,” his boss swore. “Go make yourself useful!” he spat.
“Doin’ what?” Eight Ball mumbled.
“Fuck do I care!? Go find the rest of these assholes…this guy’s fucking family! They’ve got to be around here somewhere.”
“Maybe they’re dead,” Eight Ball said.
“Won’t know unless you fuckin’ look, will you?” his boss gave him a death stare. “So get on it…we’ve got to make examples of people like this. Can’t let them hole up like this, kill three of our guys, and then escape. Have to get in and kill ‘em all. That way people will fear us. All we’ll have to do is show up and they’ll be scrambling to give us whatever the fuck we want. Gotta make a name for ourselves. This is a new fuckin’ world. Our fuckin’ world!”
Eight Ball nodded slowly. He thought he understood what his boss was saying, but he wasn’t sure. He gathered a couple more members of their crew to help him search the rest of the building. On his way out the back door, he tossed the journal he’d found on the kitchen counter.
After Eight Ball left, his boss sat down on a nearby sofa with the letter. He took a slug from the open tequila bottle he carried with him and then began to read the letter to himself.
It read as follows:
August 24th
Dear Chris and Kate,
I hope this letter finds you and the kids well. It seems like forever since we saw you last. I bet Violet and Dylan are growing like weeds. Can you believe that Jason is already two and cruising briskly toward three? I’d like for us to get together for his birthday, if not sooner, which brings me to my point for writing.
To jump right to the heart of the matter, I’m not sure how much you’ve been paying attention to all this Su flu stuff that’s been on the news lately. I know it probably just seems like another one of those “chicken little” scenarios – SARS, Bird flu, Swine flu, Ebola, and the like. I’ll admit, the sky seems like it’s about to fall every time we turn on the nightly news. But I think it’s more than that this time.
While you might be aware that I’ve had a long-time interest in the outdoors, I’m not sure you know the full extent of the steps I’ve taken to prepare for an emergency scenario. Whether it’s a storm, power outage, pandemic or similar event, I’ve set some food and supplies aside to ensure the family is secure. And I’ve taken that planning a bit further lately with the appearance of the Su flu. No, I’m not one of those over-the-top preppers who is digging his own bunker in the backyard or has three years worth of food stashed away in five-gallon buckets, but I like having a plan should something go wrong.
I’ve recently contacted Claire’s father about taking a trip down to a plot of land in southern Illinois around the Shawnee National Forest. The place belongs to a friend of his who said we could utilize the spot for camping. I’m taking Claire and Jason there over Labor Day weekend and I’d like to invite your family to join us. I’m sending a similar letter to other close friends and family members. It would make for good practice for getting out of the city in an emergency and seeing what living “off the grid” is like. If the Su flu turns out to be as bad as I think it might be, such a trip could also put us ahead of the curve. But even if you think I’m a little nuts for writing this (and I wouldn’t blame you), such a trip with the family could turn out to be a lot of fun and give everyone a chance to get away from the city for a few days – a family retreat of sorts.
Please consider what I’ve said, and if you’re up for it, pack a few bags, bring your supplies (the more the better), and meet us down in southern Illinois. Hope to see you soon!
John Stevens
P.S. – I’ve included a map and directions to get to our camp location. Don’t feel obligated to call ahead, just come. We’d love to see you!
“Hmph,” Eight Ball’s boss snorted, folding the letter and the map crudely and jamming them roughly back inside the envelope. He took another swig of tequila.
A beautiful Latina sauntered in through the condo’s front door. She slinked over to stand a few feet from the man sitting on the sofa. He was still holding the envelope.
“Change of plans,” he said to her after a moment of silence between them.
“What’s up now?” she asked, feeling a mixture of exasperation, intrigue, and anticipation for what this odd character she’d hooked up with was tossing her way this time. She both loved and hated the fact that he was willing and extremely capable of changing course right in the middle of a plan that seemed to her to be working quite well.
The guy half grinned, half sneered at her, almost as though he was welcoming her to challenge him. But she didn’t.
“What have you got up your sleeve this time, Jake Stines?” she smirked at him with an evil sexiness.
“Get your sweet ass over here, Ava,” he grinned, motioning her over.
She moved closer. He stood and wrapped an arm around her waist, giving her taut rear a smack.
“We’re heading south,” he told her with an unwavering confidence she found irresistibly macho.
“Where to?” she asked, nuzzling in closer so that her firm breasts were shoved up hard against him.
“Gonna try our hand in southern Illinois,” he showed her the map.
“What’s in southern Illinois?” Ava asked, tooling a finger across Jake’s shoulder and down around his chest.
“Not sure,” Jake said, opening the map and showing it to her. “Sounds like the guy we killed in this condo had people down there…people with a camp and supplies. I’m thinking we go down there, hitting smaller towns along the way. Should be easy pickings. Then we hit their camp, take their shit, and move on. Maybe we’ll land in Memphis and take a look around there. Chicago’s getting played out. Too much competition for what’s left. Here, we’re small fish in a big pond. We roll in and hit these little spots though, and then we’re big fish in a little pond. Get my drift?”
Ava got it. She didn’t totally agree with Jake that rural spots would be easy pickings, but she saw some merit in the idea. And she definitely liked the thought of heading south…back toward home.
Eight Ball slid shadowlike into the room, back from his search of the building. “Didn’t find anybody,” he told his boss.
“You looked everywhere?” Jake didn’t even glance up from t
he map that he and Ava were still studying.
“Everywhere,” Eight Ball nodded.
“The roof? I saw an access in the back stairwell.”
“Yup. Nothin’.”
“Basement?”
“Just storage…bunch of boxes, Christmas decorations, empty luggage, that sort of stuff.”
Jake finally looked away from the map and over toward the men finishing up their work in the rest of the condo. They were carrying the last few boxes of supplies downstairs to be loaded into their vehicles before they moved on. Most of Jake’s men were already downstairs congregating around their vehicles. They smoked cigarettes, ate, drank, and waited for their fearless leader to guide them to their next destination and to their next set of victims.
Ava started to move away but Jake grabbed, pulling her up close and kissing her hard before releasing her.
She again turned to leave. He watched her as she went, enjoying the view as she exited the living room and headed out the front door. He listened to the sound of her footsteps fade as she descended the staircase.
Once Ava was gone, Jake re-folded the map and letter and put them back inside the envelope.
“Here,” he said, handing the envelope to Eight Ball. “Hold onto this, and get the rest of the crew ready. We roll in five.”
Eight Ball nodded his understanding of the command and hurried downstairs.
Jake took a deep breath and another long drink of his tequila before he capped the bottle. He was feeling optimistic. He was proud of the new plan he’d developed on the fly. The idea excited him – the thought of him and his minions tearing through the open countryside, laying waste to anything in their path. He saw himself as Sherman cutting a swath across the American landscape or Napoleon rolling across Europe. He’d take what he wanted, when he wanted, where he wanted, how he wanted, just like he was doing here but with a lot less time and effort involved.
He nodded thoughtfully as he considered the future. Then he walked over to where the condo’s front door stood open. The condo was empty and quiet now. “Just in case anyone is thinking about coming back,” he said to himself as he reached inside his jacket pocket. He pulled a grenade from within, yanked the pin with his teeth, and tossed it into the condo’s kitchen. Then he trotted down the staircase behind Ava.
* * *
The blast could be felt three floors below in the basement. Kate hugged the kids up close to her as dust and debris rained down from the ceiling upon the boxes that formed the roof of their tiny hovel. Violet let out a little squeal. Kate immediately covered the girl’s mouth with a hand.
The three of them sat silently for the next several hours in the dark, cramped, dusty confines of the storage unit, terrified, listening for any sound of movement around or above them.
After the explosion, though, there was nothing…only silence.
Kate knew that if her husband, Chris, could get back to them, he would have. That either meant he was injured, he’d been taken prisoner, or…well, she didn’t want to consider the last option.
There was a small window in the basement. Through the cracks between the boxes behind which they sheltered, she watched as the light faded outside until it was dark. It was then that she decided they’d waited long enough.
She rummaged through her pack until she found the flashlight and .38. Then she carefully and quietly moved the boxes around them until she’d created a tunnel large enough for her to exit their hiding spot. Before she left, she instructed Dylan that if she wasn’t back in an hour, he was to care for his sister as best he could.
“Don’t go, Mommy!” Violet whimpered. But her pleas did not deter her mother.
After Kate crawled from their small cave, she replaced the boxes so that her children remained concealed. Then she crept, without use of her flashlight, to the basement door. In one side of the door, there was a thin pane of wire-reinforced glass. She peered through this tiny window out into the blackness, trying to scan the darkened stairwell outside. She dared not turn the flashlight on to see. She feared that the people who had attacked them earlier in the day might have decided to spend the night inside the building.
She cracked the door as quietly as she could, paused a moment to listen, then opened it carefully and slid out into the stairwell landing. There, she stood again, straining to listen. She detected the faint smell of smoke but heard nothing other than the occasional soft “pop-pop” of distant gunfire outside.
She made her way upstairs largely by feel, memory, and the faint ambient light the moon provided as it filtered through the stairwell landing windows. She paused every few steps to listen. Finally, she made it to the third floor where, in the moonlight, she could see the back door of their condo standing open.
She didn’t want to go inside, but she knew she had to. She forced herself to step across the threshold.
The kitchen was a disaster, she could tell that even in the darkness. Years of living and cleaning a space bred a familiarity simply through feel and scent alone – a sixth sense of sorts.
Once inside, she flipped on her flashlight. The place was indeed devastated. She could barely walk through the debris and rubble that littered the floor.
She shined her light around the room. It illuminated charred cabinets, smashed countertops, a virtually non-existent sink, a melted microwave, a dented and blackened stove, and a floor covered in an array of broken dishware and crockery.
And then she saw her husband.
He was lying motionless on his stomach near where the kitchen met with the condo’s central corridor. Kate’s breath caught in her chest, her throat constricted, her stomach churned. She already knew, but she had to be sure.
She walked slowly, carefully, yet with forced determination through the debris strewn across the floor. Glass crunched under her feet. She kicked a spot near Chris clear and knelt beside him. Under her flashlight’s beam, she could see that areas of his skin were blackened and his clothes had been burned away in spots.
It was a horrific sight.
Chris’ head was turned so that she could see half his face. There were ashes and a few shards of glass on his cheek. She gently brushed them away. The lone eye she could see was closed. As she took his arm in her hand to feel for a pulse, she prayed that somehow he was still alive. But as her fingers touched his cold, stiff skin, she knew instantly that he wasn’t.
She leaned over him to kiss the clean spot she’d revealed on his cheek. Then she sat back, resting her butt on her heels as she remained on her knees beside her fallen husband.
She sat staring at Chris, not wanting to absorb what she was seeing, but finding it impossible to tear herself away. She found it odd that no tears came until she tried to speak, and then they flowed freely.
“Thank you,” she breathed softly, taking his cold hand in hers. “Thank you for everything…everything you’ve done, everything you did. I know my saying it now doesn’t matter, but you saved us. You saved us in every way possible, right up until the very end. You saved us from the flu, saved us from starving to death, and saved us from the chaos that raged around us. You gave your life saving us, and it worked. You’ll never know how much I love you, how much I owe you for that. And now it’s our turn to save ourselves. Spending these past few weeks with you here, well…” she sniffled, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a hand, “…it made something horrible into something very special. You made a horrific situation into something that was almost tolerable. Without all the distractions of work, of television, of the internet and all the rest, I felt I grew closer to you and the kids than ever before. You made that possible. You were so strong for us. I only wish you could be with us now. But you never will be. You’re gone…gone forever. You died to give us one more shot, and I promise that I’ll do everything in my being to make your sacrifice worth it.”
She held her dead husband’s cold hand against her cheek. It felt odd, foreign, not like him.
At this point she broke down, unable to go on for several moments
.
When she’d recovered, she choked out, “I love you…I’ve always loved you, and I will always love.” Then she tore herself away, unable to bear anymore. This place was no longer her home, not without Chris. Now it was just a burned out space that held the remnants of what had once been their lives. But none of that mattered. She knew that Chris would tell her that the only thing that mattered now was the safety of the two children waiting for her downstairs. They were the only pieces that remained of her once vibrant and wonderful husband. And she vowed to do her everything in her power to ensure that those pieces remained safe from the hellish nightmare of the world in which they now had to survive.
At the back door, she paused, prepared to take one last look behind her…but she didn’t. She didn’t want to remember her once beautiful home this way. It was then that she noticed Chris’ journal on what remained of the kitchen counter. She picked it up, brushed some ashes and other debris from its cover, and clicked off her flashlight. Then she stepped out onto the landing and moved forward slowly until she felt the stairway railing.
At the top of the stairs, something bumped against her leg. At first, she thought it was just more debris from their condo, but as she stood there, the object moved, rubbing against her. She was instantly frightened, but then made the connection. She stuck the .38 in her waistband, bent, and picked up the ball of fur that was Felix. She held him up close to her and he began to purr as she stroked his thick coat. It was a sliver of comfort in a terrible moment.
“I’m sorry,” she rubbed his chin as he nuzzled his head down into her neck. “I completely forgot about you in all the commotion. Come on, the kids will be glad to see you.”
She carefully made her way back downstairs to the basement carrying Felix with her. There, she quietly gathered the kids from their storage locker hiding spot. She surprised them with Felix, using him as a decoy to divert attention from the fact that their daddy was not with her. Then she made sure their packs were secured to them, that shoes were tied, and that the ground rules were explained and understood. While the kids were focused on petting Felix, she also took a few minutes to combine her pack of supplies into Chris’ larger pack that they’d brought downstairs with them to await his arrival…an arrival that never came. The pack would be heavier and bulkier, but she knew that without her husband there to assist them, she’d need the additional supplies.
The Pandemic Diaries [Books 1-3] Page 12
