Sean had been a regular at the strip club, almost living there, until he went sober two years earlier. Since then, he had become an insufferable AA asshole. But his presence and his appearance this evening signaled to V that he must have fallen off the wagon again.
They always came back.
“Whoever,” Augie continued from the intercom. “He’s standin’ at the back door. Just standin’ there.”
Paulie and numb-nuts looked at V and shrugged their shoulders as Virgil leaned into the intercom blowing out a puff of smoke. “Yeah, what’s he want, a hug?”
The two lackeys chuckled.
“He looks like shit, like a friggen junkie, standing there at the door.”
“Well, either let him in or shoot him,” Virgil said in annoyance. “What the fuck you want me to tell you?”
The two seated goombas smiled and exchanged looks as Virgil leaned back in his chair, which creaked and groaned under his weight, and continued to regale his staff with his latest story.
“So, where was I? Oh yeah, so Angela goes through my phone and finds my texts to Roxanne, and she’s calling me every name in the book; a dick, a prick, a cock. So I says to her, ‘where you getting all these names from? What are you, a thesaurus of penis?’”
More on-cue laughter from the two lackeys, louder and more bombastic, which coaxed V to continue.
“Then the lamps start flying and—”
BANG!
The joking and laughing was stopped dead by the sharp sound of a gun firing.
Virgil adjusted his tie, joking, but with some concern in his voice. “I guess Augie chose option B.”
Nervous laughter from the lackeys.
More gunshots from the other room.
“Jesus Christ, did he really shoot that cop?” Virgil said while grabbing the intercom. “Augie, what the hell is going—”
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG! A series of rapid fire gunshots echoed through the wall over the pounding of the DJ music. It sounded as if an all-out gunfight was underway.
V looked at video monitor displaying the camera focused on the club entrance and saw a bunch of sick looking people rushing in the front door. He looked out the window of his office into the lounge area, and saw absolute chaos. Bouncers, bartenders, customers and strippers were either attacking each other or being attacked. Chairs and bottles were flying through the air. A half-naked stripper straddling a customer mid lap-dance was sprayed with blood from a bouncer’s severed arm, and within seconds, she was digging her teeth into her customer’s shoulder while the lap dance recipient screamed out in shock and pain. One pole dancer had shimmied up to the top of the pole and was hanging on, pressing her body against the ceiling as two ragged looking men leapt into the air attempting to grab her.
With his two companions flanking him, Virgil opened the office door leading into the club in time to see two other strippers, covered in blood, flesh hanging from teeth, rushing towards them. Virgil pushed his two unlucky henchmen forward into the path of the charging women. The sickly, scantily clad dancers leapt onto the men and took them down like stripper cheetahs attacking two gazelles dressed in bad suits. V slammed the door but could still hear their screams.
Virgil used his considerable body size to barricade the door while he scanned the room for escape. His eyes fell on the police raid escape hatch under his desk. He ran over, flipped back the carpet, and descended down through the trap door in the floor where he accessed a crawlspace that took him under the club and exited into the parking lot. Running to his car, he looked towards the front of the club and saw that the cop had acted like a sort of pied piper of lunatics and they were flooding into the club. He jumped into his car and sped off, watching people in the adjacent liquor store also fighting off a wave of disheveled psychos. This wasn’t about his club. No, whatever this was was happening on a wide scale.
Chapter 24
Giant Speak ‘N Spell
When the sun came up on Dan and Pat, they were still moving south through the back roads. The car radio only broadcast an emergency message on a continuous loop: “Please stay in your homes or your current locations. This is not a drill. Do not attempt to drive on any major road. Do not attempt to leave the state. Stay in your homes until further instructions….. Please stay in your homes or your current locations. This is not a drill…”
They pulled onto Route 9, only to find all the cars screeching to a halt. Dan looked ahead and saw a military checkpoint. He considered for a moment ignoring the soldier’s commands to halt and just flooring it, but then but observed multiple soldiers patrolling along the roadside, fully armed.
“It’s a roadblock,” Dan said to Pat. “They’re looking for the nut jobs; the people going wild or infected or something. Stay calm, tell them we are going to our house in Toms River to hunker down, and they’ll let us pass.”
They heard shouting up ahead as impatient drivers got out of their cars and started arguing with guardsmen. The soldiers, losing patience and becoming more agitated, commanded people back to their vehicles.
“I am going to go tell them who I am, they’ll recognize me. I’m their representative.”
Dan snickered. “Okay, you go do that, Obama, see where it gets you. I don’t think these guys know who you are or care. Sit tight, don’t be an asshole, stay calm, and we are going to drive right through.”
More people started arguing with the guardsmen, and shots were fired into the air. A large shipping container that was positioned alongside the road beyond the checkpoint shuddered to life. On top of the railcar sized metal box, two large panels flipped open like farmhouse cellar doors, slamming down with the crash of metal on metal. A large, telescoping pole equipped with loudspeakers rose fifteen feet into the air like a giant metallic flower. A half dozen civilians that were standing within the immediate proximity of this metallic monstrosity were so startled by the sight and sound of this Transformer-like system coming to life that they actually fall backwards onto their asses. An authoritative, yet robotic sounding voice began bellowing its pre-programmed announcement at an eardrum splitting volume.
“This is an official announcement from the Department of Homeland Security. This is not a drill. All non-first responders must stay in your homes or places of business. If you are located at a military checkpoint, you are to stay in your vehicle. Stay off the main roads to allow Emergency Responders to pass. Do not attempt to pass the checkpoint. Thank you for your immediate compliance.”
The message then repeated in a loop.
More people got out of their cars and confronted the soldiers who were growing increasingly threatened. Pat looked at the car next to him and saw a woman cradling a crying child. He looked in the rear view mirror at a large group of people running down the road towards them.
“Looks like people aren’t listening to the giant Speak and Spell,” Dan commented, his quip not disguising his obvious concern over their current circumstances.
They could now hear screams from behind their car and more people started leaving their cars and rushing towards the roadblock in front of them. The soldiers began firing into the air, but soon it was obvious that not all the people running towards the front were angry drivers abandoning their vehicles. Some of the people coming forward were bloody and ragged. They were infected and they were attacking soldiers and civilians as their numbers grow, streaming closer and closer to the checkpoint. The soldiers at the front realized that their blockade was about to be breached and began panicked firing into the crowd.
Pat and Dan dove to the floor of the car and out of the way of the hail of bullets. Several cars accelerated in an attempt to run the blockade. Having realized they were quickly losing control of the situation, the soldiers either fired wildly into the crowd, hitting civilians, attackers, and other soldiers alike, or they attempted to retreat to their vehicles, which were now becoming enveloped with bloody, biting infected.
At this point, the cargo container switched over from bark mode into bite mode. A second ha
tch opened on the side of the container and two autonomous high caliber mini-guns emerged. With short, explosive bursts, they riddled the roadblock-evading cars with bullets. More cars and foot runners attempted to make it past the gauntlet, but were also torn to shreds with the volume of fire spraying from the container. Shell casings piled up on the ground surrounding the container, bouncing off of the pavement like a hail storm. Drivers dragged themselves out of the wrecked and bullet ridden vehicles, but were either grabbed by the bloody attackers or were targeted by the unmanned mini-guns. Either way, anyone leaving their cars was torn to shreds before they took two steps.
Dan slammed his foot on the accelerator and crashed into the car in front of them, pushing it a good ten feet. He then put it in reverse and steered the car down the grassy embankment in the direction from which they had come. Dozens of attackers were now jumping on cars and the shoulders were filling up with cars driven by panicked drivers seeking any way out of the kill zone.
Dan steered the car down a service road and sped off into the woods. Several other cars attempted to follow, but slammed into each other, and soon the escape route was jammed with carnage, preventing anyone from passing through. The mangled knot of cars blocking the only escape route was hit with a stray bullet, igniting a sedan’s fuel tank, turning the entire pile of cars along with their inhabitants into a roaring inferno.
“We’re not going to make it driving, Pat,” Dan said.
Pat looked at Dan, who for the first time seemed visibly shaken. “What can we do? We’ll get killed on foot.”
Dan thought for a moment as he steered his way through the winding service road. “What we need is a tank.”
“Can we get one away from those soldiers?” Patrick asked.
“Not without getting shot. I know another way. I know someone who has a tank we can borrow.” Dan thought about what he would have to do and who he would have to see and mumbled to himself. “Christ, can today get any worse?”
Chapter 25
Fake Bake
Rachel Goldstein needed to look sexy for her high school reunion at Bar Precipitation down on the shore. Anthony would be there, and she needed to ensure he regretted dumping her a decade ago. Luckily, Forever Young Tanning Salon was now open twenty-four hours to keep up with demand. The salon also provided a believable alibi whenever she needed to explain to her husband her missing hours and why she returned home sweaty and in need of an immediate shower. He was a good provider, but she was a Jersey Princess that needed a lot of attention, more than what one man could provide. She had only paid for a twenty minute session tonight, but when the bleached blonde at the front desk did not auto shut down the system after her time had expired, she figured she would remain and soak in the free rays.
After thirty minutes she could smell her skin baking and realized it was time to leave. She turned off the tanning lights, lifted the lid, removed her goggles, and before she could adjust her eyes to the room, she realized she was not alone and not the only one who smelled her roasting flesh. Zoe, the front desk girl, was standing in front of her. Zoe’s shirt was ripped open and blood was dripping from her hand.
“What the hell, you lesbo freak?” Rachel screeched. “How long have you been in here?! Get out!”
Zoe did not respond, but lunged at her fake-baked client and went right for her the low hanging fruit, digging her teeth directly into Rachel’s left breast. The resulting POP and the splatter of blood and liquid silicone broke Rachel out of her panicked catatonic state with a scream. That scream acted much like a dinner bell, and four others, hollow-eyed and hungry, burst into the room searching for the sound and the smell that had drawn them there. Soon they all got their first taste of roasted kosher brisket.
Chapter 26
Nuke Jersey
Pat and Dan had spent over an hour slowly maneuvering their vehicle through back roads, fields, and even residential backyards until they made it to the south Jersey compound of Ivan Gold.
“Social distancing,” Pat said.
“What?” Dan responded.
“They are enforcing social distancing on us.”
Dan wrinkled his brow and turned to Pat. “What are you talking about, like the clap?”
Pat shook his head. “No, you fucking dope, not social disease. Social distancing. When there is a virus outbreak, the CDC will promote social distancing, i.e., keeping people away from each other so the virus won’t spread. That is what is happening here. They’re distancing the state of NJ from the rest of society.”
“Oh yeah?” Dan chimed in. “Since when is Jersey ever considered part of society?”
The conversation ended as they approached the outer perimeter of the survivalist compound. The car pulled up to the front gate at the end of a long, heavily wooded driveway and Dan cut the engine. He leaned out of the window pushed the button on the intercom. They waited but received no answer.
“What if he’s not here?” Pat asked.
“He’s here,” Dan stated confidently.
“How do you know, Dan?”
“Because never leaves.”
A few more seconds passed with no response, so Pat suggested, “Power has been spotty in some of the areas we passed, that intercom may be out.”
“This place is off the grid, has its own power source, so it’s working. Besides, he has been watching us since we drove up.”
Dan held up his middle finger to a surveillance camera that Pat had not even noticed was there. The intercom buzzed and a voice came over. “Not a good time for an unannounced visit. We’re going underground, and there’s no room at the inn. You will have to find shelter in the manger.”
Pat recognized Ivan’s voice.
“Whack job, open the goddamn gate now!” Dan shouted back into the intercom.
After a brief pause, there was a buzz and the gate unlocked.
“Leave the car outside,” the voice commanded.
Dan and Pat obliged and entered on foot, and the heavy gate automatically slammed shut behind them. Pat noticed a 9-foot heavy steel fence surrounding the area as they walked up to the modest house about thirty yards down the drive. Ivan met them on the porch wearing sunglasses, jeans, and a black t-shirt with the words NUKE JERSEY across the chest. At his side was a heavyset, middle-aged Rambo wannabe, complete with an outfit he obviously picked out of the 511 tactical wear catalog and sporting an AR 15 rifle and 9mm sidearm.
“Daniel, I did not expect you to get caught in this mess,” Ivan said from the porch. “Figured you would have been out of the state before this hit.” He turned his attention to Pat. “Congressman,” he sneered in a tone that smacked with contempt.
Pat stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Ivan, been a while,” he said as he approached his old high school friend who now appeared less than friendly. The security guard, sensing a threat, stepped forward, putting his hand on the gun.
“Easy, tubby!” Dan said, insulting the wannabe Rambo. The two exchanged dirty looks, trying to size each other up. Dan wasted no further time with pleasantries. “Listen, Ivan, we need your vehicle.”
Ivan let out a mocking laugh. “Sure you do. Tell you what, when this is over and if any of you are still alive, we’ll all go for a Sunday drive antiquing.”
“Cut the crap, Ivan. We need it, there are friggen lunatics out there eating people.”
“No shit,” Ivan shot back. “You just realized that? If you had checked my website, I posted that yesterday.”
As Ivan spoke, his cadence increased in speed and his hand gesturing became more animated. “In fact, if you were reading my website, you would have known I have been predicting this for months. Fucking years I have been warning everyone! Ever since the government began genetic modification of the wheat crops in the 70’s I knew sooner or later it would affect us. Mix the genetically altered wheat with the growth hormones in the chicken and milk supply, and we have completely altered our evolution and dietary structure.
“Of course people are going to start eating
each other. You have the science community colluding with the military industrial complex to develop weight loss drugs. We have a population too overweight to serve in the military. Recruiters need to meet their goals; generals need to replenish the ranks. So simply slim the fatso citizens down by doping their water supply with a drug that changes their metabolism and bam, you have a whole crop of future soldiers. Science gets their guinea pigs, the military gets their cannon fodder. We all win.
“Who are you going to complain to, the government? Next week the government will be saying the reason half of New Jersey is eating the other half is because they were pissed off about a YouTube video!”
Ivan caught himself when he realized he was getting manic; and this was neither the time nor the audience for an “I told you so” sermon. He regained his composure.
“We’re going underground,” Ivan said in a calmer tone. “I have all my clients here, we’re packing up the last of the supplies, shutting the door, and I’ll see you in a year if anyone is still alive up here.”
“Listen, I am serious, we need the vehicle, that stupid tank you built for that TV show,” Dan said. “We need it now.”
“You want Furio? Why, where you gonna go, Daniel? They have closed the roads. Furio is bulletproof, can handle a bullet from a handgun or a shotgun blast, but it can’t handle the weapons the military has. An RPG will take Furio out in two minutes. And I never got the paperwork approved to put the machine gun on the top mount. Fucking liberals.”
“We’re heading to the shore, Cape May,” Patrick tried to appeal. “Hunker down there.”
“Hunker down until when?” Ivan said. “And then where are you gonna go? They’re not going to let you drive on over to New York or Delaware. They’re blowing up all the bridges right now. Furio can’t float, can’t fly, it’s not Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. What do you hope to accomplish? You can’t escape, it’s not a submarine.”
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