The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 1): Awakening

by J. D. Demers

  I was in the middle of texting Trinity back when a horn blared to my left. I had just run a stop sign and nearly hit another car. I waved an apology, but couldn’t see if the guy accepted it or was cursing my name. Up ahead at the main road, I could see traffic was backed up.

  This wasn’t the time to be texting, I thought to myself. I was the hypocritical sort. You know, I’d yell at people that were driving stupid and talking or texting on their phones but then check mine if I got a beep. Traffic looked pretty hectic this evening and I wasn’t willing to risk a fender bender, so I put my phone down on the center console.

  What was normally a ten minute drive across town became an annoying forty minute excursion. People were driving like idiots, too. Most were heading toward supermarkets or Interstate 95. I considered that this might be what Dave was talking about when he said people were going crazy.

  I could still hear helicopters over the traffic, and even caught a glimpse of one flying low over the road. I couldn’t tell if it was the Sheriff’s, military, or civilian, but it definitely wasn’t normal for them to do that.

  After I crossed the highway, I could see police and fire truck lights at the intersection leading into the parking lot of one of the many Walmarts in our city. Car accidents were not uncommon at that junction. I could see that other cars were racing around the officers and totally ignoring traffic directives.

  I started to get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This wasn’t normal. I mean, people in my town could be assholes, but this was way out of the norm for them.

  Luckily, I could cut through a gas station and take some back roads to the bar. As I neared the intersection, I saw two cars in the middle of the road. Neither seemed to be damaged but there was a shit load of police around them. A couple of the cops seemed to be holding shotguns. That made me curious, but it didn’t freak me out. Remember, I was lying near death while the world watched the infection spread.

  The gas station was just as hectic as the street, and I narrowly missed two cars and a couple of people as I maneuvered my way through the parking lot and onto the back road.

  I regretted not getting my car radio fixed. It had been broken for the last couple of years, but with Internet radio and a USB cord to my phone, I really hadn’t missed it. However, with everything going on outside, a little news would have been nice.

  I made my way through the northeast side of Palm Bay until I was able to pull into the large strip mall that held The Broken Barrel Tavern. Dave and I loved this place. Besides offering hundreds of types of beer and ale, they had great food. The smoked wings were my favorite, and I made a mental note to order some as soon as I got inside. The little bit of food I had earlier didn’t make up for three days of not eating.

  There were plenty of businesses around in the shopping center, but most were closed this time of night. Thursdays were one of the busiest nights at the bar due to their Liter Special, and the parking lot was usually packed. Even during a hurricane crisis, people would be out partying. Most people didn’t take them seriously before they hit and would take advantage of the couple of days off and go out, packing most of the bars or going to ‘hurricane parties’.

  But that night I saw only seven or eight cars in the parking lot. I scanned around and saw Michelle’s truck. She just lived around the corner and probably had been waiting forever for me. The traffic made me over half an hour late.

  I noticed that there wasn’t any music playing as I neared the entrance. Usually there were so many people here that the jukebox was blaring non-stop.

  I walked in through the double doors and saw only a few people around the bar. A couple was off to my right lazily shooting pool, and another person was playing darts by himself. The televisions were on mute, playing what looked like the local news channel out of Orlando. I wasn’t really paying attention to it though. I scanned the bar to find Michelle, but didn’t see her.

  Becky was behind the bar, which was odd. She was married to the owner and usually managed the day shift. She was short and blonde and normally had an inviting smile. That night, though, she seemed irritable as I approached and sat on a stool.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked as she came over and slapped a coaster in front of me.

  “Not here,” she snapped back, grabbing a liter glass out of the cooler. “What are you having?”

  She wasn’t normally like that, and I probably let that show on my face. Her expression softened, and she let her shoulders slump.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Everyone, and I mean everyone, called out today. I’ve been here since we opened.” She went back and poured me a dark beer and put it in front of me. “Kevin called me this morning. He was opening the place even though he was sick as hell. I told him I would come in and next thing I know, everyone was calling out and no one else would answer their phone. He’s home with Brandon,” she said, referring to her and Kevin’s son. “They’re both suffering from this flu going around.”

  I could tell her frustration was starting to return, so I tried to change the subject.

  “Sorry to hear that,” I said. “Hey, can you put me in for a basket of wings? Smoked and fried, please?” That turned out to be a mistake.

  “Sure, let me just go throw on an apron,” she snapped at me. “Sorry,” she said, calming back down. “When I said I was the only one here, I meant it. Kitchen is closed.”

  “That sucks.” I looked around the bar. “Hey, do you know Michelle?”

  “Isn’t that the girl you’ve been striking out with for the last few weeks?” she said, finally smiling.

  “Hey,” I came back with a hurtful look and then smiled, “these things take time.”

  “Let’s hope your timing is on,” she said, nodding behind me toward the restrooms.

  I turned around and saw Michelle walking my way. She looked like hell.

  Normally, she was a five-foot-six skinny blonde with a nice set of everything. She was never unkempt, always dressed to impress, and had the posture of a supermodel. But this blob of a person was wearing an oversized shirt, her hair was in a messy, tangled bun, and she didn’t have a smudge of makeup on. She was meandering her way from the bathroom, slouched, as if someone had punched her in the stomach. It was hard to hide my surprise as she made her way over to me and slumped down on the adjacent stool.

  “You look like crap,” I let slip out and then pursed my lips, realizing what I had said. She didn’t seem to take offense, though, as if she didn’t even hear me.

  “Hey,” she grunted. “I was about to call you to tell you I was leaving.”

  “But I’m here now,” I said smiling.

  She half rolled her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were this bad,” I continued as sincere as I could pretend to be.

  “It’s okay. I’m not nearly as bad as my parents. They’ve been in bed since last night. My dad doesn’t even know I took his truck.” She glanced up at one of the TVs hanging over the bar. “It’s getting so bad now.”

  I followed her eyes and casually observed what was on the screen. The volume was down, but I could tell by the split screen on the news that the pandemonium was wide spread. On one side it was displaying statistics, and the other was amateur footage of what seemed like a riot outside of a Walmart.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, though I didn’t know how bad it had been for the last few days. “People were driving like lunatics when I left my house.”

  “They’re all trying to get food. I heard most of the stores are running low on stuff. People are going crazy.” She lowered her head and suppressed a cough.

  “Running low on food?” I asked, confused.

  “Yeah,” Becky interjected. “Where have you been?”

  “Under a rock I guess,” I chided back.

  “Most of the cargo and supply trucks stopped running yesterday,” Becky said, ignoring my comment. “The truckers are staying home because they are either sick, taking care of loved ones, or are scared to catch this flu or what
ever it is. At least, that’s what the news is saying.”

  “Christian,” Michelle interrupted as she raised her head, “I’m sorry, but I’m really not feeling it tonight.”

  I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed, but I could tell she felt like crap. I had been striking out with her for a while, and just couldn’t seem to take the next step with her. We smiled, said our goodbyes, and then she left.

  The bar had almost completely emptied out now, except for me, Becky, and another guy at the other end of the long bar, seemingly passed out.

  “You need help with that guy?” I asked, motioning toward the end of the bar.

  “Naw,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “That’s Ted. He’s just had too much to drink.”

  I peered back up at the television screen to see that one of the split screens had changed to a woman speaking on a podium. Becky was still talking to me, but it was just noise in the background as I read the reports flashing at the bottom of the screen.

  At this point, I guess it really hadn’t sunk in how bad things were getting. Sure, I saw the ridiculous traffic and knew a lot of people were coming down with the flu, but the actual level of the crisis didn’t seem real to me until I read the bulletins racing across the television.

  The first bulletin I remember said something about how New York and Atlanta were seeing the first deaths from the infection. Another said that there were rumors that the First Lady was ill. A source in the Department of Energy was reporting that the President had authorized safe shutdowns of the power grid, though the White House hadn’t confirmed it.

  Shutting down the power made sense. No one wanted a Chernobyl-like incident from our nuclear facilities, and I did know from prior hurricanes that transformers were sensitive to power fluctuations.

  The news just kept flowing, reporting one bad thing after another. Other countries around the world were stricken just like the U.S. Reports of deaths were coming in across the globe. China had whole cities they had lost contact with. I started to feel a little anxiety and made a note to myself to call my sister back when I left the bar. People were actually dying from this thing. I was worried about my mother.

  “Are you listening to me?” I heard Becky ask.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I realized she had been talking to me the whole time, and blushed in embarrassment.

  She was moving around, haphazardly cleaning up the bar.

  “I said I’m closing,” she replied without looking up at me. “Kevin just called and said Brandon was getting pretty bad. He wants to take him to one of those FEMA camps.”

  “FEMA camps?” I asked as I stood up to pay my bill.

  “You really have been under a rock,” she remarked as she bagged up the money from the register. “They’ve set up mobile hospitals at a few of the schools around here. Holmes and Palm Bay Hospital are filled and they aren’t taking any more patients.”

  She looked at the twenty dollar bill I had in my hand.

  “I already closed out your tab. Don’t worry about it,” she said, slamming the register drawer shut.

  “Thanks. Keep it for yourself then.” I looked over at Ted still passed out at the bar. “Sure you don’t need help with him?”

  “Not like I can call him a cab. He can crash here tonight.”

  “Man,” I said, smiling, “I should have played drunk. Half your kegs would be empty when you came in tomorrow.”

  She gave me a fake smile, like most bartenders do when a customer says something corny, then motioned me out, locking the door behind me.

  I looked out across the large shopping center’s parking lot. It was mostly empty, but the main road was still fairly busy, although not as bad as before. The night sky was overcast and I could see and hear aircraft, both helicopters and small planes, flying just beneath the clouds. Single and twin engine planes were common. Melbourne’s small airport was only a few miles north and was home to more than one flight school.

  I pulled my phone out as I made my way to my car and dialed my sister, but the call didn’t make it through.

  I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I hated anxiety and usually only felt it when I was procrastinating about something that was important. This time, though, it was different. My mom was sick and at the hospital. I no longer thought she had a simple cold. The news said people were now dying from this epidemic and I was worried for her.

  As I got into my car, I heard a screech behind me. Turning around as I cranked the engine, I saw a truck pull up next to the Save-Some-More grocery store in the shopping center. Two people jumped out and went to the front glass door. They were carrying flashlights and one was carrying something long. Before I knew it, they shattered the glass door. When the alarm went off, the two jumped in surprise.

  This thing had gotten bad. Even with all the hurricanes that hit our city, there were rarely reports of looting. People were getting desperate. These two were definitely not average thieves. I could tell they were nervous as they hid to see if anyone noticed what they were doing. After a few moments they unlocked the door and made their way in.

  I sat there for a few minutes expecting the police to show up and surround the place, but they never came. I watched them carry out box after box, and still nothing. I was a little worried they might confront me, or even chase me if they saw me drive away, so I waited until they were back inside before I pulled away.

  It took me twice as long to get home as it did to get to the bar. There were a couple of car accidents with few emergency responders to direct traffic. Getting over Highway 95 was the worst. Cars were crammed over to the right or left trying to make their way onto the interstate.

  I witnessed a few fender benders, but no one seemed to stop or get out of their car. The stress of the situation could be felt in the air and I felt like I was missing something. Three days of being totally out of it and passed out on the couch had left an empty space between the norm of before and the chaos that was happening around me now.

  I sent a text to my sister after a few more failed attempts to call her. Even sending messages was difficult and it took a few tries before it went through.

  Traffic was at a standstill as I approached the overpass that crossed Interstate 95. A car pulled up next to me with its windows down. The radio was playing loud enough for me to hear the disc jockey reading off news reports. None of it sounded good. He talked about how the National Guard and Reserves were being called up, but sources were telling them that less than twenty percent were reporting for duty. More deaths were being reported across the country and top officials were being evacuated to secure locations. Things seemed to be getting worse every minute.

  Once I crossed the highway, the traffic heading west was lighter. I drove to my neighborhood, watching while cars headed away from me back toward the interstate. Driving down the roads near my house, I could see a few people loading their cars before joining the mayhem. I could feel the tension in the air.

  I pulled onto our road, which was just a few hundred meters long and ended in a cul-de-sac. It was a nice street. I didn’t talk to too many of my neighbors, and we never had loud music or police called on our road. Most people just kept to themselves.

  After I parked in my driveway, I tried to call Trinity again. The lines were still busy and I hadn’t received a text back from her yet. If she tried to reach me, she probably had the same trouble getting through. I tried my mom and dad’s phones as I made my way to the front door, but no luck there either.

  I noticed a few popping noises off in the distance. I wasn’t sure in which direction, but it could have only been a few streets down. My first thought was fireworks, but I think I knew in the back of my mind what they really were.

  There was an eerie silence when I opened the door. Usually when Dave or I was home, a TV would be on with some movie or TV show streaming, even if we were not paying attention to it. All of the lights were still off, and Dave’s school backpack was still by the front door.

  Movem
ent in the dark caught my attention. It was my friend, still lying on the couch, curled up in a ball and wrapped in my blanket. A slight wheeze, followed by a cough broke the silence and I saw his head lift slightly.

  “Home so early?” he croaked.

  “Yeah,” I replied as I turned on the light and shut the door behind me. “You look worse now than when I left.”

  Dave had this gaunt look to him, like he hadn’t eaten in days and was dehydrated. His skin was paler than before, and his eyes were surrounded with purple bruising.

  “Damn man,” I said sincerely, “You look like you’ve been in a fight. Want me to call your dad or something? Maybe run you to the ER?”

  “Naw,” he managed with a cough. “Talked to my dad earlier. Said the hospitals are packed.” He struggled as he sat up. “It’ll pass. Just need to rest. Gonna go to bed.”

  Dave was not a weak man. He was tough and would never ask for help. But watching him struggle just to sit up, then fail trying to stand, I rushed over and grabbed him by the arm.

  I wanted to argue with him and take him to the hospital anyway, but he was right. From what the news and Becky were saying, I wouldn’t even make it through the ER doors. So I helped him to his room and put him to bed.

  I walked back into the living room and heard back-to-back popping sounds outside again. As anxiety set in, my stomach began to churn, like two hamsters twisting my guts into a knot. The last time I felt this way, I was in a war zone. I hated that feeling. When I was overseas, there was no way to get rid of it. But here, back in the States, I knew exactly how to deal with that feeling.

  I poured myself a tall glass of rum and added a small splash of cola. Alcohol was better than any pill the VA could prescribe. After that, I threw my blanket and pillow in the laundry room, and grabbed fresh linens from the closet and tossed them on the couch.

  I turned on the television and started watching some documentary on crazy people who kept tigers as pets. I downed the glass of rum and burrowed into the couch. With the beers I had earlier, I was definitely buzzing. Within moments, I was fast asleep.