Anxiety: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (The Agora Virus Book 2)

by Jack Hunt

  “And get our head shot off? How’s that any better?”

  Sal slipped down off the table. “God sake, Frank, talking to you is like talking to a brick wall. Not everything requires lethal action.”

  “Did I say we were going to take lethal action?” Frank asked.

  “You implied it.”

  “I said we were going to pay the Guthries a little visit. I didn’t say anything about guns.”

  Sal rubbed his hand across his face. “Talbot, you confuse me more and more every day.”

  Frank pointed at him. “I like to keep you on your toes.”

  He smirked. “Trust me, Gloria does that enough. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells with her all day long.” He breathed in deeply. “I’m not sure I’m going to make it back from this one.”

  “Oh she’ll come around.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I understand women.”

  “Right. That’s why I’m married and you’re divorced.” Sal let out a laugh and patted him on the back before heading back upstairs. Frank continued to go over the map. He had visited Grindstone Island on numerous occasions over the years. His earliest memory was when his father took him there. Back then it wasn’t as developed as it was today. They had a name for the people who lived there all year around. They called them “Grinders.” With the island being the fourth biggest in the Thousand Islands, the best method of getting around the eleven acres was by ATV, something that his father had done when they visited. The island had been full of grassy landscape, two state parks, cattle, barns, and farms, and it was rare to see anyone there except during the summer months. Even in 2016 it still felt like a person was stepping back in time a hundred and fifty years. Seven miles long and three miles wide, the island had provided him with fond memories of lying on Potters Beach and glancing out at boaters as they anchored to sunbathe.

  Perhaps that’s why his grandparents had purchased the island he was on now. Its close proximity to Grindstone allowed them to enjoy both the beauty of the island and the privacy of their own.

  Not long after Frank had met Kate, he wanted her to live there all year around but she wouldn’t do it. She wanted the stability that came from living on the mainland, being close to stores without having to hop into a boat.

  Frank was still lost in thought when Sal returned. “Oh Frank, I forgot to tell you. Gloria said they took the boat as well.”

  “Of course they did.”

  Sal tapped the side of the door frame and disappeared. A few minutes later Gabriel and Tyrell appeared.

  “Okay to come in?”

  He inhaled deeply from behind his mask, did a quick once-over check in his mind, then counted back from ten. “Sure, come in.”

  “Quite a place you got here. You own the island?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So Sal was telling us about the problem. You’re going to pay them a visit?”

  “Right.”

  “Anything we can do to help?”

  “I wouldn’t ask—”

  “Hey, look, Mr. Talbot, we appreciate what you have done for us so far. We’d like to pull our weight. I’m not one for leeching off anyone. If there is anything we can do, just let me know,” Gabriel said.

  He nodded but was reluctant to get them involved in an issue that was between the Guthries and him. But that’s when it dawned on Frank.

  Butch knew Sal and Ella, but not these guys.

  Frank leaned back on the bench. “Perhaps there is something you can do.”

  “Just say the word.”

  He got this grin on his face. “How good are you at swimming?”

  Five

  The next morning, Frank awoke to a warm band of light covering his face. It had been a long while since he’d slept so well. With more than enough space in the house, he was glad that he didn’t have to give up his bed. Fortunately no one was interested in taking it. Sal, Gloria, and the kids slept in the two guest rooms beside his, Hayley and Ella took the other rooms and the three lads used the living room.

  Before they went to sleep that night, he’d made a point to find out who had fired a weapon. Those who hadn’t he would teach as soon as they got some more. That was one of the first things on his to-do list that morning. Though he had told Sal that he wasn’t planning on using force to get back what belonged to him, he was also realistic about the fact that Guthrie wasn’t going to hand over what they had without some resistance.

  While lying in bed, chewing over what he had to get done, he heard the guttural sound of a boat’s engine. At first he thought it was just passing by, then it got louder. Expecting it to be the Guthries, he bolted out of bed, tossed the sheets across the room and went over to the window. With the thick canopy of hemlock, cedar, and pine trees blocking his view of the boathouse, he couldn’t tell who it was. Not wasting a minute, he rushed downstairs without a thought for what he had on. All he was wearing was a pair of white boxer shorts, and silver dog tags on a chain around his neck.

  “Tyrell, where’s the Glock?”

  He rubbed his eyes and tried to wake up. The moment he caught sight of Frank in boxer shorts he backed up. “Mr. T., I’m not into that shit.”

  “No, you idiot. Where’s the gun? I need it.”

  “Oh, uh, it’s over there,” he said pointing to the small coffee table across the room.

  He shook his head in bewilderment. The fact that he had been able to get this close to Tyrell without waking him meant he could have snatched that gun off the table and shot them all before they even knew he was there. Things would have to change around here if they were going to stay. Frank gave a quick check to make sure the magazine was loaded and he bolted out the front door. He dropped to one knee on the porch and waited for them to show their faces. He could hear boots trudging up along the small paved pathway. When the figure came around the corner he lowered his gun, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Jameson, you scared the shit out of me.”

  “Likewise. Nice shorts,” he said with a smirk on his face. “You might want to put something on.”

  He’d forgotten that Jameson had returned home the previous evening.

  Following close behind him was his daughter. She couldn’t have been more than eight years of age. Jameson placed a hand over her eyes but she pushed around to see what all the fuss was about. When she caught sight of him, she started to giggle.

  “Oh, right. Yeah. Um.” He suddenly became very conscious of the fact that he was barely covered up. His cheeks went beet red. He slipped back inside then poked his head out again.

  “Actually, why are you here?”

  He held up a wicker basket. “I brought breakfast. Thought you folks could use some extra food.”

  His eyebrows shot up and he darted back inside to get some clothes on. By now Sal was up and coming down the stairs as Frank was rushing up.

  “I always took you for a briefs man, Frank.” Sal smiled.

  “Shut it.”

  He passed by Gloria on the way to his room and he went from running like a kid trying to cover up his nakedness to ambling into his room with all the pride of a lion. Five minutes later he came down feeling more like himself and little less embarrassed. The others had welcomed Jameson in without even a second thought to the fact that he or his daughter could be infected. Frank stood across the room from them all with a look of concern on his face. This time, however, it was Jameson that stepped forward to alleviate his worries.

  “She’s not sniffed, coughed, or been anywhere near her mother in over a month. I had sole custody of her.”

  “That’s comforting to know. By the way, why were you a client of Sal’s? Paranoia?”

  Sal stood behind Jameson making a swiping motion across his lips as if he didn’t want Frank to say anything.

  Jameson turned slightly and smiled. “Is that what you told him, Sal?”

  Sal threw his hands up. “No. Patient confidentiality prevents me.”

  “It was just my guess, you kn
ow, with the whole trap thing you had set up back at the dock.”

  Jameson chuckled. “I was seeing him about my wife.”

  Frank rolled his eyes. “Aren’t we all!”

  “Anyway, let’s get this breakfast going.” He turned and carried the basket full of food into the kitchen. The others followed and Sal placed a hand over his face unable to believe what Frank had said.

  “What? You said he was a client.”

  “Dear god,” Sal muttered as they went in to prepare some breakfast. That morning was the first of what would become many days together. Though they had been drawn together under the strangest of circumstances, Frank could already sense something was beginning to form between them all. Family? Friendship? The last time he had felt anything like that was from his days in the military.

  They laughed and chatted around the breakfast table that morning, and for a brief moment they almost forgot that the world outside had changed. It was the sudden sound of a gun going off that snapped them back into the present fear. Frank jumped to his feet and rushed to the window. There was no one outside. He opened the window just as a second one went off. This time he could tell where it was coming from — Grindstone Island.

  Butch Guthrie felt as though he was being more than generous by allowing some of the homeowners on the island to stay in exchange for them giving up what they had. Since the shit storm of the century had kicked off, he had been hedging his bets and strategically preparing for what was coming down the pipeline — martial law.

  Of course he didn’t expect that now. Not after the breaches. Not after the huge loss of life throughout the country. Not after the virus had reached Clayton. No one was going to stick his or her neck out on the line, working for the government for a measly paycheck. Hell, there was no one left to cut the checks. The disbanding of the police in Clayton had been proof of that. Sure, there were a few that thought they were going to continue to uphold the law, but they soon came around to his way of thinking when faced with the reality that their colleagues had decided on survival over duty.

  He’d said it countless times in the prepper retreats. People will toe the line only for so long. When push came to shove, when a man got squeezed into a corner, you would truly see what they were made of.

  Butch walked back and forth around the next family that had shown up on the island. He’d been through six other families just like them. He’d already fired two shots in the air as a warning to them but they still didn’t seem to be getting the point. He even brought over the Bolmer family and had them explain it, thinking that might save them from what he was going to do if they continued to cause trouble.

  “Look, it’s pretty simple. Whatever you have now belongs to us. If you wish to leave the island, you can. I’m not here to bully you. Let’s get that straight.”

  Tom Hannigan, the father and husband of the Hannigan family, stepped forward. He was a short stocky man wearing a pressed red and white striped shirt. He was the very kind of people that Butch despised. A Harvard type. Well educated. More money than sense. They were the kind of people that would fork out cash for the biggest boat, the largest house and put on snooty cocktail parties but when it came to survival they didn’t know shit. But what pissed him off even more than that was the fact they still thought they had the right to tell him what to do.

  “You’re not a bully? What the hell do you think barging into our home and robbing us is?”

  Butch could see that he was seething. He loved it. This was what he lived for. Seeing the very people that had relied on the government, who had turned their nose up at his family, trying to act all brave and shit.

  “It’s called taking charge. Someone’s got to do it.”

  “And who put you in charge? From what I can tell this is still a free country, we own this property and pandemic or not, you have no right to take what belongs to us.”

  Butch snorted and looked at his brothers, Dougie and Bret. They, along with his cousins Joey and Dusty and their wives formed an arc around the family who had been marched outside. Of course, Tom would disagree. In his mind, they were dragged. Manhandled. Hell, even pistol-whipped. The guy was a wimp.

  Butch leaned in. “No right? Belongs to you? I’m going to take what you just said as a misunderstanding on your part. Perhaps you didn’t look over the fine print when you purchased the property, or maybe you are just ignorant of the history of this island. So, I’m going to let that one slide. Let me tell you a few things. This island doesn’t belong to you. That property doesn’t belong to you. Everything on this island was once owned by my family.”

  “Maybe so, but that was before your family sold land. I have the deed to this place. It’s mine. By law, I have rights and right now you are infringing upon those rights.”

  “Um. Oh, I do love a good speech. Well, please by all means — call the cops. In fact, let me do it for you.”

  Butch reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. He mimicked the sound of the dial tone.

  “Ah yes, operator, I need police assistance.” He paused and smiled. “Oh, what’s that? You want me to wait. Oh, no problem. Sure, go ahead. Take your time.”

  He whistled and his brothers and cousins chuckled. All of them were holding AR-15s. He walked closer to Tom and then stopped right in front of him.

  “Sherriff? Butch Guthrie here, I have a little bit of a discrepancy over land rights. What’s that? You’ll come right out? Oh great, I can’t wait for you to get here.” He paused. “Tom Hannigan. That’s right. You want to speak to him? Okay, let me put him on the line.”

  Butch handed the phone to Tom. He took a step back and looked at him cautiously. He was hesitant to take it but Butch told him to take it. He took the phone and put it up to his ear.

  “Sheriff?”

  When there was no answer, Butch burst out laughing. “The sheriff isn’t coming because there is no police department operating, you moron. Now give me that.” Butch snatched the phone from Tom’s feeble hand. It was like taking a toy from a baby.

  Clayton Police Department only consisted of three full-time officers and two part-timers. They hardly ever dealt with crime. And with a pandemic breathing down their neck, none of them were in a position to deal with the fires or the looting or public outcry. Fear took care of that. Of course, Butch was grateful. It meant he didn’t have to waste a bullet.

  “Then the National Guard,” Tom blurted.

  “Look around you. Do you hear choppers overhead? Did you see any military in the town on your way here? No. That’s because they are swamped and a shitty little town in the armpit of nowhere is the last place on their list.”

  Tom swallowed hard and looked over to his wife and two kids who looked as if they had just stepped out of prep school. Their clothes screamed high fashion. Their view about life was privilege and rights; the kind of people that probably never worked a goddamn day in their whole life.

  “The only law and rules that exist now are the ones I make.” He stared at Tom, studying him. He cast a glance at his wife, a dolled-up blonde with a tight ass that matched her face. “Don’t look at me as though I’m the bad guy here. I’m doing a good thing.”

  A look of confusion spread across his brow. “What, by taking everything we have?”

  “I’m not taking everything. Just the essentials. We’ll leave you with some things to get by, the rest you will get once you chip in and help.”

  “Chip in and help?”

  Butch snorted. “Oh, that’s right. You self-indulgent assholes don’t understand the meaning of help. You like to be waited on. I bet you book a reservation even if the restaurant doesn’t take reservations. I bet you buy the most expensive wine just so you can say how expensive it is.” He let out a chuckle as he stepped closer.

  Tom put up a finger and staggered back. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Tom. Tom. Relax, no one is going to touch anyone around here. Like I said. I’m not the bad guy here. But if we are going to ride this out, a
nd you are going to be here on the island, there are some rules you have to follow.”

  “Why do you need to make them?”

  “Are you making them? Huh? Or how about your little wifey here? Pretty little thing she is.”

  He stepped forward showing all the courage of a mouse. “Back away from her.”

  “Or what?” Butch smiled. “What are you gonna do?” He waited to see but Tom just looked nervous. “That’s right. You are going to keep your trap shut and your ears open. Believe me, once this is over, you’ll thank me.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “All the best ones are. Joey, Dusty, head on in and lighten their load.”

  “You got it, Butch.”

  They pressed on towards the house. A look of dismay, horror or shock came over the Hannigans. All they could do was stand and watch with their mouths open. That was until Tom decided to grow a pair.

  He moved forward and grabbed a hold of Butch by the arm. “I’m telling you…”

  Before he could get another word of out his mouth, Butch threw a hook and cracked him on the jaw. Tom stumbled back and collapsed to the ground. His wife and kids rushed to his side and looked on in horror.

  “Now, I didn’t want to do that.” He wagged his finger at him. “But you forced my hand. You’re lucky if I leave you anything. I could throw you off this island, drown you, put a bullet in your skulls but I’m not going to do that. You and your nice little family here are going to be safe because of me. So, if you want a reason for why I’m taking all this… Call it payment, protection money. As long as you are on this island, no harm will come to you. You’ll be safe from sickness and safe from anyone who tries to take what you have. I think that’s fair. Don’t you?”

  Tom spat some blood on the ground. His bottom lip was cut. He didn’t reply. He wouldn’t. He didn’t have the balls to. They cowered on the ground and his wife looked as if she was going to say something but Tom pulled at her arm.

  “Of course, the alternative is simple. You get the fuck off my island!” He glared at him. “You decide.”