“I guess you’re probably right,” the woman answered.
Just then, Steve appeared with the thief’s overflowing cart.
“Everybody okay in here?” he asked as he approached the counter.
“We’re fine,” Moto answered. “How’d you get the cart?”
“I was pulling into the parking lot, and almost ran over the guy. He pointed a gun at us, and tried to hijack the car. As soon as Hillary started crying, the dog flew across my lap and out the window straight at the guy. It was like something out of a movie.”
“We heard the gunshots,” John said with a concerned tone. “Is everyone ok?”
“Oh yeah, we’re fine,” Steve said.
As if on cue, the girls walked into the store. Mongrel led the way, surveying the room with his hackles still standing on end. Hillary was unshaken and whispered to the dog as she patted his upright hairs, trying to calm him.
“He was trying everything he could to get the dog off of him,” Steve said. “The guy finally got loose by popping off a couple of shots into the air, but the dog had already bought me enough time to pull out the pistol you left us. The guy didn’t stick around once he looked up and saw the business end of the .45 in his face.”
“I’m so glad you’re all ok, but I think I’m going to take your advice and lock up,” the woman said. “It’s just not worth it to stay here. Y’all are welcome to grab whatever you need, no charge of course. I’m just going to call home and give my husband a heads up while y’all get what you want.”
“We couldn’t do that, ma’am,” John said, feeling Moto and Steve jerk their heads toward him.
“Please, take whatever you want,” she insisted. “It’s the least I can do, and heaven knows I’d prefer folks like you get it. By the time I come open up again, there’s a pretty good chance the looters will have already gotten to everything.”
“Do you think you can get home safely?” Steve asked, concerned that she was grossly underestimating the carnage outside. “Would you like for us to follow you?”
Moto had already begun rummaging for antibiotics in the thief’s cart.
“Oh, it shouldn’t be any trouble,” the woman responded. “I don’t live too far from here. I walk it every day.”
Moto looked up from the cart, “You don’t have a car here?”
“Well no, but like I said it’s just a short walk,” she said as she held the phone up to her ear. “Hm, nothing.”
“The least we could do is give you a ride,” John offered. “It’s really starting to get ugly out there, and I’d hate to send you on your way without your husband even knowing to expect you.”
“Well I suppose that would be nice,” she said. “It is a longer trek nowadays than it used to seem.”
The men worked quickly to gather the most important items, and were careful to only take what they needed.
Once they had locked up the store and were all safely in the truck, Hillary now sitting on Steve’s lap, John offered that the woman was welcome to travel with them if she and her husband hadn’t a better option. He knew that such an offer would not sit well with Moto, but after the conflict in the store John couldn’t bring himself to oversimplify every decision into one that was purely motivated by self-preservation. He knew that if he started justifying easy decisions now, it would be a lot harder to go back in the future. Though he did now have to consider the well-being of Hillary and Brooke, he fully expected that the woman would tend more toward bugging in. Fortunately, the woman answered quickly before John could catch Moto’s stare and feel the ramifications of such an offer.
“Truth be told,” the woman started, “I should probably be offering you all a place for the night. I heard you discussing where you should go, and I imagine there’s no safer place around these parts than on the other side of my husband’s rocking chair. He and his conspiracy-theory, poker friends have told me all this was going to happen. He’s been going on about all of this rigmarole for days now, and stocking up on food and such. He’s probably going to be more than a little upset with me for not believing him, now that he was right about something for once. He kept telling me this morning not to go into work, and I promise you he’s sitting out on the porch right now, just waiting for me so he can say ‘I told you so.’”
Sure enough, just a few minutes down the road, as they pulled into the woman’s driveway her husband watched closely from his chair on the front porch. The man sat with a shotgun laid across his lap. As the group approached, the old man lifted the gun and took aim at the unfamiliar truck. John noted that the house was easily big enough for them all, and fairly well secluded. With sundown rapidly approaching, they would be hard-pressed to find a better option for the night.
“Put down that gun, sweetie,” the woman called out through the opened window. “We’ve got guests!”
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“Well, I guess seeing how you’ve got your own food and all, the more the merrier,” the old man eventually relented. “But y’all had better keep that little ‘un quiet when they come.”
“When who comes?” Moto asked.
“Oh, come on,” the man scoffed. “You folks haven’t been listening to them national news media types like my wife, have you? The zombies, that’s who.”
“We already know about the zombies,” Hillary said proudly. “We killed a whole lot of ‘em at the hospital.”
“Well if that’s so, maybe you’ll be worth the trouble after all,” the man said. “But why are you asking me ‘Who?’ if you already know full well who it is I mean?”
“I’m just surprised you’re already so informed is all. We didn’t expect that other people would know the truth about all that’s been going on,” Moto said. “I was worried about how we were gonna go about telling you all this without making you think we’re crazy and kicking us out of your house.”
“Shoot, boy. I’ve known about all this for a lot longer than any of you kids have,” the man said.
“I seriously doubt that,” Moto mumbled in John’s direction.
“Come again?” the old man said with a grimace.
“Forgive my brother. He hasn’t gotten much sleep lately,” John said, giving Moto an unsubtle elbow to the ribs.
“Shoot. If you two are brothers, then I’m the heir to the throne,” the man scoffed.
“Okay, okay,” his wife interrupted. “The weather isn’t that nice out here. Let’s get you all on ahead inside and see about getting you cleaned up.”
John just then realized how repulsive they all still looked after having run through the sprinkler water and zombie remains that morning. Moto’s scrapes were no longer that noticeable, and it seemed he might make a full recovery. Now, Steve was the big concern, with blood still soaking through his bandages. All of the events that had brought them to this point felt like they’d occurred days ago, though only hours had passed. Every time they were able to escape the insanity surrounding the outbreak for a short while, John would find himself still clinging to the hope that everything was back to normal. Deep down, though, he knew that things were not, and might never again be as they once were.
“You all go ahead,” John said. “I think I’ll hold down this other rocking chair if you don’t mind.”
The old man cut his eyes toward John and then glanced at the rocker sitting vacant next to him. He couldn’t come up with an excuse to secure his desired solitude quickly enough, so he grudgingly shrugged and agreed.
The man’s wife leaned in to him and whispered, “Play nice, Virgil,” before leaving him with a pat on the shoulder.
John held open the screen door for the old lady and his growing group of friends before taking a seat. John smiled at the man once they were alone, though the man made every attempt to avoid eye contact. Eventually, after John had been holding his pistol at the ready and sitting silently for a long while, he could’ve sworn he caught the man let out an almost undetectable grin. Trusting the progress, John stayed quiet and left the man to r
ock in silence. The man watched over his domain attentively, breaking concentration only occasionally to caress the accumulating condensation on his glass of lemonade or to pet the dog that lay silently at his feet.
While Brooke and the old woman attended to Steve’s wound upstairs, John could hear Moto successfully entertaining Hillary in the living room. The voice in John’s head was becoming more and more insistent that he not waste a single moment that could be used for planning and preparation for what lay ahead. He resisted, though, and for an excruciating, enjoyable while, John sat in peace.
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“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” the old woman said when she came back outside. “He hasn’t kicked you off his porch yet? He never even lets me sit out here with him. Maybe it’s me that’s the problem after all,” she said with a laugh.
“I like this one,” the man responded. “He knows how to shut up. It’s a rare thing these days.”
“I appreciate that,” John said. “But do let me know when you’re ready to talk. I’d love to pick your brain about all this stuff if you ever get the urge to.”
“Well, not yet you don’t,” the old woman responded. “Dinner is ready, and we’re not having any of that talk at my table. Y’all come back on inside and eat something.”
“Is Steve gonna be alright, you think?” John asked as he and the old man stood to walk inside.
“There’s a pretty good chunk out of his arm--a lot worse than I’m used to ever seeing,” the woman said. “We gave him and your brother some of those antibiotics from the store, though. Might end up with a pretty nasty scar, but I don’t see too much reason to be concerned.”
“Can you tell what happened at all?” John asked. “I don’t know that he ever told us the details.”
“Oh, he mentioned something about breaking down a door when he was looking for his little one,” she responded. “He just must’ve scraped up against something I reckon.”
“And it took a chunk out of his arm?” the old man asked.
“Oh, come on. I don’t think he’d have any reason to lie. Now, enough with all of this gory talk; everyone is already in the kitchen. Let’s enjoy a nice meal with some good company and leave all this nastiness behind for a bit.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” John said. “That sounds great.”
The old man gave John a concerned look but nodded as if to say they would talk about it later on.
The dinner was lacking anything of significance, whether in conversation or in taste. The old woman got sick of everyone referring to her as ma’am and divulged that her name was Marie Jensen. The man, after some prodding from Marie, introduced himself as Uncle Virgil. The big meal that Marie had been going on about all afternoon turned out to be a rather simple lasagna, but was held as a delicacy in the eyes of the Chow brothers, considering their past several meals. Brooke and Hillary picked around at the main course before happily diving into the cheesecake that followed. John’s concern for Steve’s well-being swelled when he wasn’t able to eat much at all from his plate. Even after a shower and fresh clothes, his face was an unnatural pale color. Steve was polite when conversation was directed to him, but he had otherwise grown increasingly subdued.
“Who’s up for a game?” Virgil asked, shocking the table.
“He means poker,” Marie interjected. “Don’t get your hopes up for Monopoly. It’s poker or nothing with this one.”
Moto and John accepted easily, and Brooke promised to watch, but only after helping out with the dishes. Steve excused himself and asked for Marie to show him and Hillary to a place where they might be able to lie down. John was glad when Brooke spoke up and offered to keep her eye on Hillary if Steve needed to rest. John was beginning to fear the worst for the poor man and didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone with the helpless little girl.
The only danger present downstairs was a danger to the brothers’ wallets. It quickly became apparent that Uncle Virgil was quite a force at the poker table. He wouldn’t even have to adjust his temperament from that which he’d shown during the peak of conversation to that point. John was mostly folding and taking in information for the first several rounds as Moto and Virgil butted heads. The worst hands for Moto were the ones where he thought he’d finally have the old man cornered, only to see that Virgil had been slow-playing his unbeatable cards. The game was a lot different from what the soldiers were accustomed to--during which the other soldiers would try too obviously to throw people off their scent when checking their hole cards for the first time. Uncle Virgil’s face was an emotionless structure of skin and bone, and his eyes communicated nothing but boredom.
Finally, John turned over an Ace and a King, but didn’t have to work very hard on masking his excitement. The exception was becoming the rule, and he was sure that Virgil would complete an improbable hand to take him for all he was worth. John called. To John’s surprise everyone called and Moto revealed the flop, turning over an Ace, a King, and an Ace; a full house. Careful to mask any potential tells that the old man could pick up on, John imagined what two cards could possibly ruin the hand this time. There was only one Ace left in the deck, and, even if Virgil held pocket Kings, John would still come out on top. Outside of a miraculous straight flush, John was finally going to take down the table’s bully. Deciding to play it slow, John raised the bet by the five-dollar minimum to help set the hook. To his horror, Virgil and Moto quickly folded their hands. John didn’t even attempt to hide his disappointment as Moto congratulated him on finally taking down a hand and pushed the chips his way. John flipped over his two hole cards, showing the table his Ace and King.
“Nice hand, John,” Virgil said with a previously unimaginable smirk.
It wasn’t exactly the way John had envisioned breaking through the wall of stoical emotionlessness. Though Moto had failed to recognize it, this was quite possibly Virgil’s most impressive victory yet.
“Thanks, sir,” John responded, “but I can see that we’re not going to be much competition for you tonight.”
“Ah, you’re not that bad,” Virgil said.
“Would you mind a little side conversation while we play?” John asked. “I’d really like to pick your brain a little bit if that’s alright with you. You could just keep raking chips while we talk.”
“That doesn’t sound like the worst way to spend my night,” Virgil said while shuffling.
“Yeah, how’d you figure you knew about all this stuff before us?” Moto asked.
“What he means to say is, how did you come to get such a head start on preparing for all this?” John corrected. “Were you saying that you knew about this outbreak specifically, or were you just into the doomsday-prepper type stuff for a while? We were scouring the news and the web for updates and couldn’t find much of anything before it all came to a head today.”
“You just have to know where to look is all, I guess,” Virgil said while expertly dealing out hands. “About a year ago, one of my favorite webpage sources was reporting on this doctor from Chicago who had gone and started testing some illegal stuff on people. They say he was trying to use cancer to fix Alzheimer’s, or something crazy like that. They went to pick him up and take him to the slammer, but he was already gone. Fled the country’s what my site says.”
“Wait, is that how all of this got started?” Moto asked.
“Well, I can’t say that for sure. But it’s starting to sound more and more like that’s the case. That same site reported that he wound up in China to keep doing his work--got a lot of funding, too. One guy posted some blurry pictures somebody took of some notes that got leaked out on a camera phone or something. It talked about one of his patients that died while he was trying out the newest stuff, ended up with a really bad fever. Well, they thought he’d died. A little while later, the guy wakes back up but he ain’t himself no more, but luckily he was tied down on the table still. They said the guy was really violent and stupid. The fever had messed up the front lobe and some other
important brain parts and was only working off of the simpler stuff, like instinct. All that was several months ago.” Virgil dragged another stack of chips to his side of the table.
“Wow. It really sounds like that’s a strong candidate for the source of all this stuff based off what we’ve encountered,” John said. “Was it intentional? Do they know anything else?”
“There’s never any tellin’,” Virgil responded. “Not many people took those pictures very serious at the time, and you can’t hardly read half of ‘em anyways--especially me. Here lately, some people started to connect the dots with what’s been going on. It doesn’t sound too far-fetched to me either. The last thing the government would do, if something like this ever were to happen would be to tell us about it.”
“Do you think it’d be possible for us to see the forum where all this was posted?” John asked. “I’d love to see if there’s any more information on there that could benefit us.”
“I don’t see why not,” Virgil said while bending down to take another peek at his hole cards. “After this game, of course.”
Moto was glad to hear that they weren’t going to stop mid-hand, because he had flopped an Ace high straight. If both John and Virgil were to call his sizeable bet, Moto would have an opportunity to win a large portion of his money back in just one hand. Not sensing too much danger from the cards that were shown on the turn and river, even though the river card had paired one of the cards from the flop, Moto pushed in the remainder of his stack of chips. His chair squeaked as it slid backwards, and Moto stood with a satisfied look on his face and both palms pressed down on the table.
“All-in.” Moto said.
John began to count up his remaining chips to see how much remained in his own dwindling stack.
“But I will say that I don’t know if you guys should be as worried about all this as you are,” Virgil said while John timidly pushed his chips into the pile. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years, it’s that things are never quite as bad as they seem, and they’re never quite as good as they seem either,” Virgil continued as he flipped his cards, revealing that he’d hit both the turn card and the river to secure a game-winning full house.
And the Blood Ran Black Page 12
