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

by Jack Hunt

“What if I’m infected too?” Tyrell said. “I mean he had his hands all over me. It doesn’t just carry in the blood. Sweat, saliva, hell… this is messed up.”

  Frank looked straight at him and without missing a beat he replied, “Well if you are infected, maybe you can pass it along to Butch. At least that way you can do something good before you die.”

  Tyrell frowned and strolled off towards the truck. His words were harsh. He knew that. He wouldn’t wish this disease on anyone, not even his worst enemy, but in the frustration of the moment he just blurted it out.

  The only upside to it all was that Frank knew no police were coming to haul them away. If Wyatt was right, the others were gone, dead, or locked up behind some impenetrable door. Who knew? Before Frank got in the truck he fished out his anxiety meds and downed one. He made a note to visit one of the local pharmacies and see if he could find some more.

  He took a second to calm his thoughts before he turned over the ignition and pulled out of the lot, leaving behind the cruiser and the officer. Though there was no denying that what Tyrell had done was wrong, he had to wonder where Wyatt would have taken them. The police department was in shambles. He might have thrown them in the cells but how would that have helped? There would have been no one to judge them. It was ludicrous and yet how many doctors, nurses, police officers, and military across the United States were still trying to do their jobs?

  It didn’t take long to reach Washington Island. By the time they made it over there, it was dark and the only lights came from a crescent moon, and a canopy of stars. A few lights flickered across the water. Fire pits lit by survivors?

  Jameson had told them that Washington Street went around in a circle, but one section called Gardner veered off to the right. They were to follow that road right to the end. On the left would be the home of one Vernon Red. Most just called him Red.

  “Any gate around the place? Rabid dogs that I should be worried about?”

  “Nothing,” Jameson said.

  “And you say he’ll remember you?”

  “Yeah he should.”

  “Are you sure he’s alive?”

  “Oh he’s alive. Probably the only one on that island that is.”

  Now on any ordinary night, porch lights would have lit up the island but now it was completely dark. There weren’t even any streetlights. From the moment people drove onto the island they would immediately find themselves in the small, tight-knit community. Either side of the narrow road were beautiful big homes, well-manicured gardens, and numerous bushes and pine trees.

  Not a sound could be heard on the island, except from nighthawks flying overhead. Frank put the truck in neutral and just let the engine idle for a while. He glanced out his window and looked up at the two-story clapboard home. By all accounts it looked as empty as the others. Gabriel slid the rear window apart.

  “You want us to go up and see?”

  “Yeah, okay, but be sure to take the alcohol with you.”

  Frank watched the pair hop out of the truck and double-time it up the short driveway. Just down from the house was a small boathouse, and an L-shaped dock. Keeping his window down and his hand on his rifle, he listened for the first sign of trouble. He had visions of them being shot at long before they got close. He kept scanning his mirrors, paranoid of other threats.

  In many ways he imagined a small community like this on the island would be able to thrive if they all worked together. It was a good distance from Clayton itself. They could create a blockage on the causeway and use their boats to reach other areas of town along the shore. And yet by the looks of the dark windows they had simply abandoned the place.

  The eerie silence was shattered by the sudden sound of gunfire. One single shot. Frank burst out of the truck and sprinted up to the house. His heart was thumping in his chest as he reached the front door and found it shut. The closer he was, the clearer he could see that some of the windows had been boarded up. Hopping down off the porch he circled around back and stopped in his tracks. Gabriel was fighting with Tyrell. He cast a glance towards the house but there was no activity there.

  Racing over to them, he kept his distance but shouted.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “He nearly shot me.”

  “I did not. I thought I saw someone in the trees,” Tyrell said.

  “And that gives you reason to shoot?” Gabriel spat back, while picking himself off the ground and brushing off old grass trimmings.

  “Tyrell, at this rate I’m going to ban you from carrying weapons,” Frank said.

  “Screw both of you. You might not like it but you know what I did back there was the right thing to do.”

  “Right thing? That was someone’s life.”

  He pointed to himself. “And this is mine. It’s just as valuable as anyone else’s and I sure as hell won’t lose it to some jackass who thought he could continue on like nothing had changed.”

  Tyrell bent at the waist and scooped up his rifle.

  “Well? Any luck?” Frank asked.

  “The back door is open, I called out his name but got no response.”

  Frank looked up towards the house before trudging up there. “Just stay back, and put your guns away. I don’t want to give him any more reason than he already has to shoot us.”

  He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shone it ahead while keeping his rifle strapped to his back. The door creaked as he pushed it ever so slightly. From the silhouette of furniture inside, he could tell it led into the kitchen.

  “Vernon Red. Can you hear me?” He paused. “Jameson McCready sent us. We’ve brought you some moonshine. We are armed but not looking to harm you. I just want to use your boat.”

  Still nothing.

  Frank looked down at the floor. Jameson had warned him that people might use all manner of traps to prevent others from stealing. And with the door unlocked, he was taking every precaution necessary. He glanced at the floor to see if there was a board of upright nails, of course it wouldn’t have been that clear. They would have covered it with a tarp or something like that but he checked anyway. It was all clear.

  Looking back at the others, he motioned for them to get out of the way. He stepped to one side and gave the door a little kick with the toe of his boot, then moved back. A thud, then a creak as it swung open. No sooner had it opened another ten inches than a gun went off and blew a hole in the door. All three of them dropped to the ground and scrambled for cover. Tyrell, the trigger-happy lunatic, fired a few rounds back shattering the back windows before Frank reached him and tore the gun away.

  “That’s it. You’re done.”

  Tyrell scowled. “Why? He fired first.”

  “We’re trying to communicate with the guy. Firing back isn’t going to get us shit.”

  “So you’re taking it away permanently?”

  “Call it a timeout,” Gabriel said with a grin. “Once you’ve learned to act like a responsible big boy, you’ll get it back.”

  Frank smirked. They were positioned behind a bush just a few feet from the porch. He imagined Vernon would tell them to get the fuck off his property but there was only silence.

  “I don’t see why we can’t just go down and steal the boat?”

  “We could, or we could do the decent thing and actually ask the guy to use it. Hell, after having nearly got our head shot off back at the distillery, I think we’ve broken enough laws for one evening.”

  Tyrell snorted. “Laws. There are none now. You two need to wake up and smell the coffee. This is a dog-eat-dog world and only the strongest are going to survive.”

  “Would you just shut the hell up?” Gabriel said.

  After five minutes of waiting for something to happen, Frank indicated for Gabriel to go around the side while he went around the other.

  “Whatever you do, don’t shoot the bastard. There’s been enough killing for one day.”

  He nodded and while staying low to the ground dashed off, using the shadows of the
trees to keep him well hidden.

  “You can come with me.”

  “But you’re infected. I mean, you might be.”

  “And so might you. Now let’s go,” Frank replied.

  They moved stealthily up the side of the house and peered through the windows but it was pitch-dark inside. It didn’t make sense. Who would sit in the dark waiting for someone to show up?

  “Wait here, I’m going back up there.”

  His pulse was racing and he was trying his best to remain calm but he was anything but calm. Frank slid back onto the porch and made his way to the back door. This time he got down real low and instead of sticking his head around the corner he reached for a cushion off the porch rocker and tossed it through the doorway. He heard it land and slide but there was no reaction shot. There should have been a reaction shot. It was human nature under anxiety-fueled conditions. Perhaps he hadn’t seen it.

  “Red! Can you hear me? We are not here to harm you. I just want to talk.”

  He took another pillow and tossed it. Nothing. Not a peep, or even a creak of a floorboard. Something was not right. Still nervous he pulled his flashlight and took a piece of the shattered glass and cast his light upon it at an angle, and then positioned it by the door. He moved it back and forth until he saw it. He snorted. Clever.

  “Tyrell. Gabriel.”

  “Yep,” he heard him a short distance away.

  “Let’s go.”

  He rose up off the ground and brushed himself off before cautiously stepping into the house and moving off to the right. Positioned a few feet from the door and duct-taped to a chair was a sawed-off shotgun. A piece of string went from the trigger to some kind of mechanism that engaged the gun the moment the door was opened.

  “I always thought you had to pull the door for that to work.”

  “Obviously not.”

  Frank shone his light from the door handle over several cogs down to the metal contraption. It used some kind of release-and-tighten mechanism. He had to wonder if Jameson had built it for Red. What other surprises awaited them inside?

  Gabriel was the closest to the light switch.

  “You want to turn that on,” Tyrell said. Gabriel reached fro the switch.

  “No,” Frank immediately said. “Don’t touch anything. Who knows what else this guy has rigged up?”

  They moved through the house using their flashlights until Gabriel called out.

  “Eh, Frank. You might want to come and take a look at this.”

  Frank was holding a photograph that contained some family picture. Something he’d learned fast in times like these was that family took on new meaning. You began to appreciate every moment, as there was no way of knowing if it would be the last. Frank headed up the stairs taking two at a time until he reached a doorway that Tyrell was standing in. Inside was a large bedroom with a four-poster bed. The first thing he noticed was the smell of vomit. Lying in the middle of the bed with several empty bottles of alcohol around him, along with sleeping pills, was Red. A small amount of vomit was on the side of his pillow but beyond that he looked as if he had just gone to sleep.

  Frank exhaled hard.

  “Well, there goes what Jameson said about him being alive for sure,” Tyrell scoffed.

  It went to show that just because a person could survive, it didn’t mean they wanted to. No doubt he was one of many that had decided to take their own life rather than suffer some painful existence. The power grid was functioning but for how long? How long before supplies would run out? Red’s death taught Frank a valuable lesson. It didn’t matter how many supplies a person had gathered. It didn’t matter how many people they had around them, or how isolated they were. If they weren’t mentally ready to deal with it, they wouldn’t last.

  Before they exited the house, they made sure there was no one else inside. After making their way down to his private boat dock, Frank looked at Gabriel.

  “You sure you want to do this? If you don’t, tell me now and we’ll head back. I’m going to have to stay here on the mainland for the evening.”

  “I’m in, no worries there. Listen, why don’t you come over with us? Perhaps we can be a distraction while you check the place out.”

  “No, they are bound to have people keeping an eye on the surrounding waters.”

  “Grindstone is a hell of a lot bigger than your island, Frank. He’d need a whole army. Besides, look at the size of that boat. I’m sure you can find somewhere to hide on it,” Gabriel said.

  Frank blew out his cheeks and gazed out across the inky waters. With him knowing how to navigate the river, and it being so dark, it was an option. If he didn’t go with them, he’d only be kicking around on Washington Island and who knew if there were others that had heard them arrive. It could be more trouble than it was worth. At least this way he could keep an eye on the two and find out what was going on with the other islanders. There had to be more than just Butch’s family over there.

  “Alright. We’ll go together.”

  “Just one thing,” Tyrell harped up and pointed at him. “I will get that gun back, right?”

  “Just get in the boat.”

  Fifteen

  Dodge Memorial Center, or otherwise referred to as Dodge Hall, wasn’t much to look at. A rectangular building with grey siding and a brown roof, it had for many years been used for all manner of community events, including a square dance on Saturday nights. Often they brought in a local DJ or band. However, as Butch stood before the small crowd he was in no mood for fun or games.

  “Where are the others?” he barked at Joey.

  “Dougie and Bret are still trying to find folks.”

  “They’ve left?”

  “No, they are on the island somewhere.”

  He shook his head in bewilderment. Trying to get them all to meet at the hall was harder than wrangling pigs. He would have rather done that, at least then he wouldn’t have had to deal with these imbeciles.

  At the far end of the room attached to the wall was the American flag. All around the walls were framed photos of people and places on the island from times gone by. Many were black-and-white. Butch stood behind a makeshift pulpit like a minister about to give a sermon. He was tapping his fingers impatiently and gazed out at the many scared faces that looked back at him.

  After ten minutes, he was about done waiting.

  “Right, listen up, I’m not going to wait any longer. I’ve invited you all here—”

  “Invited? I had a gun shoved in my face,” a man cut him off.

  “That’s only because you got belligerent with me,” Misty replied.

  “Settle down,” Butch said, giving a waving motion with his hand. “It’s important that you are here tonight because there has been a turn of events and… well… as long as you are on this island and enjoying the perks of its safety, you are obligated to attend any and all meetings. So having said that let me address specifics.”

  He was just about to begin when Dougie and Bret stumbled into the room. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push down his desire to react.

  “Finally.”

  “Sorry about that, we had a couple who were busy eating,” Dougie held up a large bag.

  “That’s ours.”

  Butch stepped down off the platform and walked to the back of the room. Dougie and Bret pushed the couple forward, and then Dougie emptied the contents of the pillowcase out onto the floor. A bunch of cans rattled as they rolled out, along with several packages of beef jerky, chips, candy bars, and bags of rice.

  Butch stared at it all and picked out some jerky. “Well look at that. So where was this bag?”

  “They had it hidden in their boat.”

  “Hidden stash. I like that. However, we can’t be having you doing that. No, that’s not going to work. You know why?”

  There was no answer by the couple.

  “Look around you. There are many mouths to feed on this island. Now if you are not sharing what you have, it means you are taking for
granted every single one of these people.”

  The young guy stepped forward. He was a gangly man with round glasses and a bald spot on top of his head. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-seven. “Listen, Butch, we didn’t mean anything by it. In fact, I forgot we had this.”

  “Yeah,” his spouse said. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”

  “Really? That’s good to know. You see, because I would hate to think that you were both taking for granted my good nature in allowing you to stay on this island. You see what I was about to say tonight affects you and your lovely… what’s your name again?”

  “Karla.”

  “Karla, that’s it. And you’re…”

  He turned to the young guy.

  “Mitch.”

  He let out a chuckle. “Mitch, Butch. Hey… you think we might be related?”

  He eyed him with a devilish grin. Butch loved playing with folks. In his time running the store, he enjoyed instilling fear into the folks who came in to buy items. It was how he got a lot of people in Clayton to sign up to his retreats. He would talk about the worse-case scenarios. The great what-if… and sure enough he could get some of the most worried folks eating out of his hand. By the time they walked out of his shop, not only had they bought more than they came in for but they had signed up to one of his retreats.

  As he looked around, he even had a few of them still with him as friends.

  “I don’t see the resemblance,” the man said, not fully getting the joke.

  “Well listen up, Mitch and Karla. As much as I don’t like to punish people, I mean, it’s not really my place to do that but being as you are on my soil, essentially in my house, that means you were eating my food without my permission. So, there has to be some consequences.” He walked around them, touching them on the shoulder like a lion toying with its prey. “Now to be honest with you, I really haven’t thought too much yet about what kind of consequences there are going to be for those who stay here and fall out of line.”

  The man immediately came to his girl’s defense. “Karla didn’t have anything to do with it. I knew about the food. I told her and well… if you want me to go without food for a day, then, sure that’s fine.”