The Scourge (Book 1): Unprepared

by Abrahams, Tom

  As she drove, her mind only barely registering the road ahead of her, she tried to reconcile what had happened. She was a killer. Two people. In a matter of seconds. Without hesitation she had acted. Violently.

  Her foot weighed on the gas pedal and the truck responded, pushing faster and faster through the dark. Kandy’s mind replayed those fateful moments over in her mind. She couldn’t shake the feel of the gun kicking in her hand, the sound of the shots, the expressions on the targets’ faces. She saw the jerk and twist of their bodies as the bullets tore through their flesh, muscle, and bone. Images of their dead bodies on the road were in full color, sharper and more in focus than they’d been when she saw them up close. The slideshow accelerated with the speed of the truck. Images flickered through her mind faster and faster as if on a heads-up display projected onto the truck’s windshield.

  “Are you okay?” Phil asked. His voice didn’t sound like him. It was breathy, like a whisper. “You’re shaking.”

  Kandy looked at her hands on the wheel. She was shaking. Her whole body trembled from the realization of what she had done. When she tried to speak, she realized she was crying too. Tears rolled down her face. Her vision blurred as she blinked them from her eyes. Snot bubbled from her nose.

  “I shot them,” she said. “I killed two people.”

  Kandy had covered countless murders, accidental deaths, those exacted in self-defense. And as much as she’d always tried to empathize with the victims, never once had she been able to connect with the person who’d pulled the trigger. She couldn’t sense the overwhelming guilt that came with ending a life. It weighed on her. It was suffocating.

  “You saved…our lives,” Phil rasped.

  He was slouched against the passenger door. The wind from the driver’s side whipped through the cabin, making it hard to hear him above the road noise. “If you hadn’t done what you did, I’d be dead. You might be dead as well.”

  She took her eyes from the road for an instant, glanced at Phil, and saw the sadness in his eyes. It mixed with the pain to make him look pitiful. She’d never seen him look so small, so fragile and vulnerable.

  “It doesn’t change that I did it,” she said.

  The effects of the pandemic were just beginning to take hold. Society was only starting to collapse into something less civilized. What would Florida look like after a few more days of this? What about a week? A month? A year?

  Kandy couldn’t fathom it. Already she’d seen overcrowded emergency rooms, the shortage of life-sustaining supplies, the desperation of a government worried about collapse, and the panic resulting from all three.

  Up ahead she saw the flashing lights of a checkpoint. They were getting close. Closer to safety. Was anywhere safe?

  Minutes later she was at the barricades. To her left, there was a long line of vehicles hoping to pass. There was a gas station and convenience store packed with people waiting in and near their cars and trucks.

  The area was lit by large portable balloon lights. Their generators rumbled, drowning out the cicadas and ambient road noise.

  Unlike the line of hopefuls arriving from the south, there was virtually nobody trying to head in that direction. Three of the four checkpoints, on the east, west, and north sides of the intersection, had little traffic.

  An armed soldier approached the truck. He wore a filtered mask over the bottom half of his face and gloves on his hands. His eyes were behind sunglasses despite the time of day.

  His head moved across the vehicle. She imagined he could see the missing window and shards of glass on the dash, not to mention the blood on her face. She had already put the gun back in the glove box.

  “Only residents and their guests, ma’am,” the soldier said through the mask. His voice was hollow like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. “No exceptions. Do you have identification?”

  “Yes,” said Kandy. “But we need help.”

  From behind the glasses the soldier shot a glance at Phil in the passenger’s seat. Phil was in obvious pain, his face bloodied.

  “My boyfriend is hurt,” she said. “We were ambushed on our way here. Twenty miles back.”

  “A woman and two men?” asked the soldier.

  Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”

  “We’ve had three other complaints coming from your direction,” he said. “Woman tries to flag down a car. Men come from the woods.”

  “Yes, and you haven’t stopped them? You’ve done nothing about it?”

  “We have our hands full here, ma’am,” he said. “Chopper looked for them. Didn’t see ’em. You’re hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “He’s hurt. I think his ribs are broken.”

  “I need to see identification first.”

  Kandy reached over for her purse and saw an armed soldier on the passenger’s side. He stood in front of the right headlight, much like the would-be thief of a woman had done on the driver’s side less than an hour earlier. She handed the soldier at her door Phil’s driver’s license and then hers.

  “Why is there so much traffic from the south?” she asked. “And so little from everywhere else?”

  “This is the first major checkpoint north of the St. John’s if you’re coming up 415,” he said. “Any other direction and there’s a bunch of checkpoints before you get here. Thins the herd. Most of these cars have those yellow stickers you’ve got. The ones coming from the south don’t.”

  “What about the people waiting at the gas station?”

  He shrugged and studied the licenses, glancing at her, Phil, then back to the cards. “They’re waiting.”

  “For what?”

  “Who knows? If I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t be. Too dangerous. Those people are asking to get sick. A bunch of ’em are already coughing.”

  He handed back the licenses and pointed toward a white tent to the left of the concrete corridor that zigged and zagged through the intersection. The tent had a large red cross on its angled roof. “That’s medical,” he said. “I don’t think there’s much they can do for broken ribs other than some painkillers, but they’ll try to help you.”

  The soldier backed away, issued a series of hand signals to other soldiers closer to the medical tent, then motioned them forward.

  Ten minutes later they were on the road again with a warning they’d face another checkpoint at I-95. The doctor had wrapped Phil’s chest to restrict his movement, cleaned the cuts on both of their faces, and gave them a package of over-the-counter painkiller. Phil took them without water.

  As the lights from the checkpoint dimmed in the rearview mirror, Kandy took a hand from the wheel and put it on Phil’s knee. He put his hand on hers and squeezed.

  “We’re going to be okay,” she said. She wasn’t sure if she believed it, trying to convince herself as much as Phil.

  CHAPTER 25

  OCTOBER 3, 2032

  SCOURGE + 1 DAY

  NEW SMYRNA BEACH, FLORIDA

  Mike Crenshaw stared at the glass house on the Intracoastal Waterway. The lights of the mid-century modern home glowed from the inside. Miriam was to his left and Brice to his right.

  “I can’t believe we made it,” he said. “We found the place. And he’s home.”

  “Now we have to hope he’s not sick,” said Miriam.

  “And that he doesn’t shoot us when we knock on his door in the middle of the night,” said Brice. “It’s late, right?”

  Miriam checked her phone. The light cast a white glow on her face. “Not that late.”

  She led them from the middle of the narrow street and up a winding paved walk, which led to the front door. The front yard was shallow but wide. The briny scent of the ocean gave the cool air a crispness that offered Mike hope.

  “You guys stay back a few steps,” said Miriam. “He doesn’t know you. He knows me.”

  She left her suitcase with Mike and stepped up onto the small landing at the front door. She didn’t see a bell so knocked instead. Unlike much
of the house, the door wasn’t glass. It was dark, solid wood painted in a high-gloss black finish.

  When nobody answered, Miriam knocked again. A voice spilled into the entry from a speaker next to the door. “Hello?” It was a man’s voice.

  Miriam looked around for a camera or a place to push a button, but didn’t find one. “Barry? It’s me, Miriam. Miriam Weber.”

  “Miriam? What are you doing here? And who are the two men with you?”

  “I got stuck here,” she said. “And these are…they’re my friends.”

  There was a pause before cousin Barry answered, “Hang on a minute.”

  Miriam turned around and smiled at Mike. She lifted her eyebrows as if to suggest they were welcome. Barry hadn’t made that clear yet.

  “Are any of you sick?” he asked. “Any symptoms?”

  “No,” said Miriam. “None of us. How about you?”

  “No. We’re fine. All four of us.”

  “Could we come in?” asked Miriam. “We need help.”

  Again a pause. Then Barry answered, “Hang on.”

  A minute later the large door swung inward as a balding man with chiseled features opened the door. He wore a bright yellow collared polo shirt and a pair of khaki shorts that reached his knees. He was thin except for the hint of a spare tire at his gut.

  A young girl stood at his side. Her arm was wrapped around his leg. Mike guessed she was about four years old.

  Miriam squatted with her hands between her knees. She looked up at Barry. “Is this Sally?” she asked. “She’s gotten so big! Where’s Jimmy?”

  Barry smiled. “He’s upstairs packing. C’mon in.” He stepped back and waved them into the house.

  As Mike entered the house, he let go of a suitcase and offered Barry his hand. “Mike Crenshaw,” he said. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Barry Miller,” he said. “And this is Sally.”

  Mike offered Sally a high five. She left him hanging and buried her face into her father’s leg.

  Brice followed and Barry shut the door behind them. He led them into a sunken living room that stretched to the rear of the house. Beyond the windows was a large boat moored to a dock on the Intracoastal.

  “You have a beautiful home,” said Mike. “And a beautiful boat.”

  “Thank you,” said Barry. “It’s a sixty-foot Sea Ray Sundancer. Leave your bags wherever and have a seat.”

  They found seats on the long sectional sofa in the middle of the sunken room. Miriam sat next to Mike, Brice sat in a corner, and Barry and Sally found seats opposite them. They hadn’t spoken yet when a thin woman dressed in jeans, a black cotton T-shirt, and a Florida Gators ball cap appeared from what Mike guessed was the stairway. She feigned a smile and moved toward Miriam.

  Miriam stood and offered the woman a hug. “Betsy,” she said, “so good to see you.”

  “It’s been a couple of years,” said Betsy. “We’re surprised to see you. I thought you were in Charlotte.”

  “Raleigh,” said Miriam. “I got stuck here when they shut down the airports.”

  Betsy stepped back and then found her way to the sofa next to Barry. She snuggled into him when she sat. Sally climbed from her father onto her mother’s lap.

  “I’m going to be straight about this,” said Miriam. “We need your help.”

  The couple exchanged glances. A young boy, a couple of years older than the girl, appeared from the same entry as the mother. He was thin with arms and legs that seemed too long for his body. He had an uneven crew cut, the top growing unevenly on one side. He was pale but bounced into the sunken room with energy that Mike wished he had. The boy high-stepped onto the back of the sofa and leaped into it, sinking into the cushion next to his mother and sister.

  “This is Jimmy,” said Betsy.

  “Hi, Jimmy,” said Miriam. She put her hand on her chest. “Do you remember me? I’m your cousin Miriam.”

  The boy looked at his mother, as if she held the answer. He obviously didn’t recognize her.

  Mike sensed this wasn’t going well. He wondered how close Miriam was to this family. Were they first cousins? Second? Were they so far removed she didn’t even know their connection?

  “What did you do to your arm?” asked Barry.

  Miriam touched the bandage on her forearm and looked at it. “I cut it on some glass.”

  “What kind of help do you need?” asked Barry. “We’re actually about to leave.”

  “On the boat?” asked Miriam.

  Barry glanced to his left toward the dock. He nodded. “At sunup.”

  “Could we go with you?”

  The question hung in the air for what felt like forever. Neither Barry nor Betsy seemed to want to answer. They knew their answer, they just didn’t want to say it aloud. Then Betsy surprised them.

  “Maybe—” Betsy started.

  There was a knock at the door.

  All heads swung toward the entry.

  “Who could that be?” Betsy said to Barry. “Are we Grand Central Station?”

  “What’s Grand Central Station?” asked Jimmy.

  “Hang on,” said Barry.

  He got up from the sofa and moved toward the front door, leaving a palpable discomfort in the room. Nobody knew what to say.

  “I like your dress, Sally,” Miriam said. “Beautiful flowers.”

  Sally buried her head in her mother’s shoulder. Betsy rubbed her daughter’s back and answered for her. “Thank you,” she said. “She wears it a lot. Something about the bright colors, I think.”

  “How have you been?” asked Miriam. “I don’t think we’ve seen each other since—”

  “The family reunion,” Betsy cut in. “Two summers ago. In the Dells.”

  Miriam snapped her fingers and pointed at Betsy. “That’s right. We went to that dinner theater production of Footloose. I remember. We all left at intermission.”

  That brought a smile to Betsy’s face and she laughed. The tight expression on her face eased. “You’re right. Oh, the poor girl singing the lead part. She tripped and fell from the stage. I felt so horrible for her.”

  “She did,” said Miriam. “And—”

  “Guess who’s here,” Barry said. He stood at the top of the three steps leading into the sunken living room.

  Two people stood behind him to one side. Both were bloodied, and they looked battered. The man was holding his side. The woman appeared shell-shocked. She looked familiar to Mike. He’d seen her somewhere before.

  Betsy stood and set her daughter onto the sofa alone. She crossed the room hurriedly and extended her arms. “Phil?” she said, her voice quavering. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” said Phil. “Just hurt my ribs. Some cuts and bruises. Nothing big.”

  “I’m Barry Miller,” said Miriam’s cousin, extending his hand to the woman.

  “Kandy Belman,” she said. “I’m Phil’s…”

  “She’s my girlfriend,” said Phil.

  Betsy put her hands on his face and kissed his forehead. She backed away and offered Kandy a hug. This was a far warmer greeting than they’d received. Mike studied their interaction. They seemed more like family than Miriam did. Then he recognized the woman, Kandy Belman.

  “You’re the TV reporter,” he said, without thinking. “I know you from the news.”

  Kandy’s face flushed. She glanced at her feet before making eye contact with Mike. She smiled.

  Betsy looked at Mike and then at Kandy. She put her hands to her cheeks. “You’re on television? You’re the one Phil’s been telling us about. So nice to finally meet you. Please come in.”

  Mike leaned into Miriam and whispered, “How well do you know these cousins?”

  Miriam ignored him. She sighed. That told Mike what he needed to know. She was blood. Phil was family.

  With Kandy’s help, Phil managed the three steps into the living room. Everyone found seats and the conversation began again. This time Phil started.

  “I hate
to impose,” he said, “but this plague thing is bad.”

  His eyes found the children and he winced. He mouthed “sorry” to Betsy.

  She waved him off. “We’ve told them about it. They know all about it. Well, mostly all about it.”

  “Everything we’ve heard is to get as far away from people as possible,” said Phil.

  Barry smiled. “So you came here?”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” said Barry. “I was kidding. Of course you’re welcome here. You’re like family.”

  Mike nudged Miriam. She elbowed him in the side.

  “But we’re not staying,” said Betsy. “We’re leaving on the boat. We’ve got enough provisions for a few weeks. Probably longer.”

  Phil shrugged. He exchanged glances with Kandy. “Can we—”

  “Don’t even ask,” said Betsy. “You know you can come with us. You must pull your weight though. Fishing, cooking, you know the drill.”

  “We’ll pull our weight,” said Phil. “No problem.”

  Betsy smiled and looked at Miriam. “You can come too. You and your friends. Same deal. You pull your weight. We can’t leave Phil. And if we can’t leave him, it wouldn’t be right to leave you. You’re blood.”

  Mike smiled. It was relief and confirmation.

  “We’ve got three staterooms on the boat,” said Barry. “We’ll have the kids bunk with us. Kandy and Miriam can share. Phil, you can bunk with the two guys. That work?”

  Phil eyed both Mike and Brice. He agreed it was fine.

  “It’ll be tight,” said Betsy, “and we must stretch our rations. But as long as the fish are biting and we get some rain every few days, we’ll be fine.”

  Mike knew that was a relative term. Here they were, nine people, crowding onto a yacht to escape the coming plague. He hoped none of them were already infected. If they were, no distance from shore would be enough. They’d all die at sea.

  CHAPTER 26

  OCTOBER 3, 2032

  SCOURGE + 1 DAY

  NEW SMYRNA BEACH, FLORIDA