The Agora Virus (Book 2): Anxiety

by Jack Hunt

“I dunno, it kind of fits. Mr. T was a grumpy bastard as well.”

  They wandered back through the main office, out into the corridor and down a flight of steps into the basement. “Where are you?”

  “Change room.”

  As soon as he pushed his way inside the change room, it became clear where the smell of death was coming from. Frank instinctively backed up. Everything about being close to the infected, alive or dead, still made his skin crawl.

  Slumped down on the floor next to a locker was a cop. Frank couldn’t tell who he was but he had obviously been dead a while, as his skin had changed in color. During his time in Iraq he had seen how quickly a body decomposed and the different stages of death from rigor mortis setting in, hands and feet changing color, to blood pooling in lower parts of the body. The skin would then become purplish and waxy as rigor mortis exited, and the head and neck would turn a greenish-blue color. That usually kicked in at the twenty-four-hour mark. Around that time was when the strong smell of rotting meat could turn a person’s stomach.

  Three days later, the body gases created blisters on the skin, fluids leaked from the mouth, nose, eyes, ears and rectum, and then week’s later skin, hair, and nails became so loose they could be pulled from the body.

  It was a sick sight but not half as bad as what he was seeing now. The effects of the Agora virus were brutal. People suffered horrifically, and death was painful.

  Tyrell went to reach for the sidearm that was still in the holster when Frank yelled at him. “Wait!”

  He paused, and Sal shot him a glance. “We need it, Frank.”

  “I know we do,” he said swallowing hard and reaching into his pocket to pull out sanitizers. Tyrell was wearing gloves and a mask, which had been one of the requirements of having them in the vehicle with them. Still, the sick had touched that Glock 22, which meant it was now smothered in deadly germs. What if they couldn’t get them all off? They would have to strip it down and sterilize it fully. This wasn’t just about giving it a simple cleaning with solvent. He would need to do it. How else could he know if they had done it correctly? One cleaning wouldn’t be enough. He squeezed his eyes shut at the very thought of getting close to it.

  “Breathe, Frank.”

  He nodded. “Go ahead, take it.”

  They were home, but safe? That was still to be determined. At least now they had a weapon.

  TWO

  There was no way that any of them were going to be able to swim to the island. It was too far. The current was strong and besides, without a boat they weren’t going to be able to gather what they needed over the coming months. Sal made the suggestion to check Fishers Landing or Collins Landing or one of the many homes along the waterfront. Worst-case scenario they would have to cross the bridge over to Wellesley Island State Park and swim the short distance to Grindstone and then ask the Guthrie brothers for assistance.

  That was the last thing Frank wanted to do.

  It was getting late; darkness would soon make it even more difficult to find what they wanted. All of them were hungry from having not eaten in close to twenty-four hours.

  “How about we stay at our place tonight? We can find a boat tomorrow,” Ella said. “I’m exhausted, I know the rest of them are.”

  Frank glanced over to the others who were leaning against the SUV as if they had hiked up Mount Everest. Youngsters, he thought, shaking his head.

  “What do you think, Sal?”

  Sal had been beside himself with worry ever since Queens. The last time he’d spoken to his wife was when they were on their way down to collect Ella but since then she hadn’t answered the phone. It wasn’t like her. Frank agreed and though he was more than willing to spend the evening searching for a boat, he thought it was best that the others rested and ate. His apartment in Clayton wasn’t big, so they opted to head over to Sal’s place, which was a blue clapboard house at the end of Franklin Street. It backed up against the local recreational park called Lions Field. The location had originally been a dump owned by the State of New York but it ended up being maintained as a public field for the Lions Club and Clayton Village.

  “Yeah, maybe Gloria headed back to the house,” Sal replied.

  “Okay, well let’s at least get these guys some food and you and I can head out later.”

  He nodded but didn’t say any more. His features hardened and it was clear his worry was getting worse.

  They made their way over to the house and each of them breathed a sigh of relief as they got inside. It was warm but humid because the windows and doors hadn’t been opened. The smell of food that had gone off lingered in the air.

  “Gloria? Adrian? Bailey?” Sal shot up the stairs and checked the rooms but no one was in the house. It also appeared as if no one had broken in, as everything was exactly the way he’d left it. Sal went over to his neighbor’s house to see if he was around but returned a few minutes later, shrugging.

  “It’s just like a whole bunch of folks upped and left.”

  Gabriel slumped down in a chair on the opposite side of where Hayley was. “They can’t have all left. People don’t just run off when a virus hits.”

  Ella jabbed him. “No?”

  “C’mon, I didn’t have much choice.”

  “Maybe it’s the same with others,” Tyrell said flicking on the TV. All it came back with was white noise. None of the stations were working. The media had abandoned their posts. It was to be expected. The upswing was the electricity was still working. It was small things that meant a lot now. How long the power grid would remain up was anyone’s guess.

  “So what have you got to eat?” Hayley asked.

  Sal looked too distracted to answer so Frank went into the kitchen and began rooting around in the cupboards. He emerged with several cans of beans, Spam, and soup.

  “It’s not great, but it will do for now. Ella, you want to give me a hand?”

  “I’ll help,” Hayley said rising to her feet, entering the kitchen and snatching a can out of Frank’s hand. His eyebrows shot up and Ella shook her head before joining her.

  “So you got any movies?” Tyrell asked while fishing around near the TV.

  “No,” Sal replied. “And get away from there.”

  Tyrell’s hands shot up. “Okay, easy, brother. Just asking.”

  Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, Frank went through the process of sanitizing the handgun using household items such as boiling water, white vinegar and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He followed up with WD-40 and lubricated all the parts using a few drops of motor oil.

  “Listen, guys, we’re going to shoot out and see if we can’t find a boat. Eat, rest, we’ll be back later.”

  Ella poked her head out from the kitchen. “You want me to come?”

  “No, it’s fine. Probably best you stay here and keep an eye on…” he trailed off gesturing his head to Tyrell who was ignoring Sal’s request and fishing through a collection of DVDs.

  “Oh, we just hit the mother lode!” Zach hollered while holding up a bottle of bourbon, which he’d found inside one of the cupboards in the living room.

  “That’s not yours.”

  “Sal. Let’s go,” Frank said trying to get him to leave before things got out of hand. He was on edge, and rightfully so. Frank would have been climbing the walls by now if Ella and Kate had been by themselves on the island.

  As they walked outside, Frank tried to get through to Kate again but he got no answer. It had been the same way since Queens. However, unlike Sal, he at least knew that Kate was safe behind the walls of the CDC building. At least he thought she was. Reality was, they were all clinging to a shard of hope that could easily be shattered with one phone call or an update on the radio.

  “I don’t like leaving them here.”

  “They’ll be fine. Let’s go,” Frank said, giving one last glance towards the house.

  Over the following half an hour they went up and down the waterfront, stopping at various homes that had docks. They figu
red someone would have a kayak, or a canoe. It was common in the summer to see the river filled with fishermen, and families out in rowboats, pedal boats, and kayaks. The problem was, in the time they had been away, the outbreak had forced people to rethink how they could survive. A large majority of people might have attempted to head over to Canada, or one of the Thousand Islands. Many of the islands had more than one property on them. The smallest, like Frank’s, had one while Grindstone Island had ten year-round households. The population then swelled to seven hundred in the summer months when visitors toured the island.

  The SUV bumped up and down as they drove up a dirt driveway towards a large cottage. By now it was pitch-dark outside. As the headlights lit up the front of the house, Frank saw an inside light turn on then off.

  “Did you see that?” he muttered.

  “Yeah, maybe we should skip this one.”

  “Sal, if we don’t find one, one of us is going to have to swim across.”

  “Well it isn’t going to be me, and it certainly won’t be you. I say we get that Zach kid to do it. He looks like a strong lad.”

  Frank chuckled as he killed the engine and hopped out. Like many of the homes along the waterfront, this one had a large yard that surrounded the house. The property was just off Jackson Lane. It wasn’t that everyone would have abandoned their homes, but based on what they had seen so far, residents must have had the same idea of grabbing a boat and getting the fuck out of dodge. At night, it was hard to see if there were any boats. Usually there would have been lots. Most properties along the waterfront would have one or two.

  As they made their way around the house and down to the dock, Frank kind of wished they had kept the gun on them. They had left it with the others just in case they encountered any issues. They just assumed that if anyone was still in Clayton they were locked up inside their homes. Windows had been boarded up on many houses to prevent people from getting in. People were smart. They might not have all been proactive in preparing for the worst scenario, but they certainly were taking measures since.

  “Why aren’t you talking about them?”

  “Who?” Frank asked.

  “You know.”

  He was referring to the Guthries. The thought of them revisiting his island had crossed his mind several times after leaving but he didn’t discuss it, as he didn’t want to stress Sal out any more than he was.

  Frank glanced at him as they continued down a steep incline heading for a dock.

  “We don’t know if they visited, Sal.”

  “Oh, I know. There is no way in hell she wouldn’t answer.”

  “Look, let’s just get a boat and…”

  Sal grabbed a hold of him by the scruff of the neck. “If anything has happened to them I swear…”

  Frank’s face twisted up. “You swear what? Remember, you were the one that chose to come with me. I tried to persuade you to stay.”

  There was an awkward moment. He held tight for a few seconds more.

  Sal slowly released his grip knowing Frank was right. The fact was he could have stayed but for one reason or another he had chosen to go to Queens. Frank knew that it may have cost him but the way he saw it, that’s what they were dealing with now — a whole bunch of unknowns.

  A step left, a step right, a word spoken out of line and any one of them could find their head on the chopping board. It wasn’t just a virus that was a threat; it was the ruthless and desperate, neighbors, and old friends. People would go to great lengths to survive. How far was still to be determined but the future certainly looked dangerous.

  Frank continued on his way until he reached the dock.

  “Bingo!” He pointed to a small boat that was covered in a tarp and branches. Loose leaves had been scattered over and around the area in an attempt to cover it up. Sal shone the light in front of them as Frank moved forward to grab a branch off.

  “Frank!” Sal suddenly hollered, grabbing him back just as the sound of a wire snapping dispersed air in front of them. Both of them collapsed on the dock, and felt it shift beneath. Once Frank had managed to catch his breath, he started berating Sal.

  “What the hell are you playing at?”

  Sal pointed his flashlight ahead. A thin metal wire was strung between two trees. Whether it was a booby trap or some kind of an alarm system was hard to tell but it sure as hell would have torn into them. Frank got up and shuffled over to the wire and touched it like a guitar string.

  “Someone didn’t want anyone getting their hands on that boat. C’mon, help me get the tarp off.”

  “No, we need to get out of here. Find another one,” Sal said turning to leave.

  “After what we just went through. Screw that,” Frank replied, kneeling on the edge of the dock and tugging at the tarp rope. He hadn’t untied more than two of the knots when the sound of a shotgun being cocked behind them made them freeze.

  THREE

  “That’s it,” the stranger’s voice bellowed. “Back up.”

  “Look, we—” Frank barely managed to turn his head before the stranger fired a round near his feet to make damn sure they knew he meant business. A chunk of wood hit his leg, leaving a gaping hole in the dock.

  They threw up their hands. “Whoa!”

  “I don’t give a shit. You’re not the first to try and steal my boat and you won’t be the last, now get on out of here.”

  Under the cover of night, it was hard to see the stranger’s face. All they could make out was his silhouette.

  “Look, we’re not trying to steal it. We’re just trying to get to my island.”

  The stranger snorted. “You and the rest of them. Go on, get out of here and don’t come back.”

  Sal turned his flashlight towards the stranger. “Jameson? Jameson McCready, is that you?”

  There was a pause for a second. Jameson McCready was a mechanic in town. The name rang a bell but without seeing his face, Frank still wasn’t sure who they were dealing with.

  “Sal Hudson?”

  Sal sighed and flashed Frank a grin. “An old client of mine.”

  “Ah, I should have figured, let me guess, he suffers from paranoia?” he said before looking back at the wire contraption that had nearly decapitated them.

  “What you doing here?” Jameson asked.

  “The same thing you are. Trying to stay safe.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at home?”

  “Look, it’s a long story. You think we can use your boat? I need to get to Frank’s island. Gloria is there with the kids and she’s not responding to phone calls. And well… Frank’s boat isn’t at the marina.”

  Sal started approaching him and Jameson told him to stay back.

  “We’re not sick, if that’s what you’re thinking. You?”

  He shook his head before peppering them with questions. Where had they been? Had they come in contact with anyone who was ill? Had either of them sniffed, coughed, or felt unwell in the past twenty-four hours? He was skeptical, paranoid even and for good reason. The whole town had succumbed to what other small towns had all over the country. People had got sick, panic had set in, and law and order had got out of control.

  “Why is she over there?” Jameson asked.

  Sal ran a hand around the back of his neck to work out the tension. Both of them felt as though they were still walking on eggshells with the man.

  “I said he could stay there,” Frank said. “Safer than being on the mainland.”

  “That depends.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He snorted again. “Have you two had your head under a rock for the past four days?”

  Frank looked at Sal, then back at Jameson. “We’ve been out of town.”

  “Well I guess you can count yourself lucky.”

  He continued to stare at them but didn’t elaborate. It was obvious he was checking out the masks, goggles, and disposable coveralls.

  “You got any more of those?”

  Frank nodded. “At my cottage. If you want, I�
��ll give you some. Payment for bringing us across.”

  He sniffed hard. “Sounds fair. You can use the boat, but I’m coming with you. After the shit that I’ve witnessed in this town, with people acting all crazy, I don’t trust anyone. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Sal muttered while making his way up to greet him. He was forgetting all about the six feet of distance he was supposed to keep between him and strangers, so Frank pulled at his jacket before he got too close. Jameson squinted at the bright light Sal was shining in his face. Sal lowered it.

  “Keep your distance. Okay?”

  Jameson made his way down and moved past them. Though he had agreed to take them over, it was clear that he wasn’t going to trust them. He kept his gun on them at all times even though Sal had asked him to lower it.

  The boat bobbed a little as they stepped down into it. Jameson instructed them to stay at the far end. That suited Frank fine. If he had his way, he would have stayed on the dock and let them go by themselves.

  The engine roared as he started it up and the boat eased out of the waterfront. Dark water swirled, and a light breeze blew against his face as they made their way toward the island. He swatted a mosquito buzzing at his neck.

  “So how’s the family?” Sal said trying to break the awkward silence between them. “Meg is dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sal replied.

  Frank didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as the silence settled over them, extra thick this time. Sal went back to staring at the small waves. As they got closer to the island, Frank noticed that none of the lights were on in the house. He glanced at his watch; it was close to nine at night. He figured at least one room would be on.

  Upon arrival, Jameson moored the boat to the dock and they climbed out. Sal didn’t wait around, he sprinted for the house with Frank following close behind. When they reached the front door, they found it was locked. Sal looked at him and he fished around in his pockets and then realized the key was with all his other belongings that he’d lost when Chester destroyed his truck.

  “Shit!”

  Sal banged on the door but there was no answer. They hurried around the back, and tried the rear door but that was locked too.