by Lukens, Mark
“All of ‘em are down,” the old woman said as she looked back at the crowd. She seemed calm—a contrast to the anger and vibrant motion in front of her by the bank. But then Ray wondered if the woman’s calmness wasn’t really just shock.
And Ray also felt a little shocked. This was surreal, like something out of a disaster movie. He stared at the crowd. Shouts and chants drifted from them. Some of them were beating on the glass doors of the bank, the glass rattling in the metal frames. He was pretty sure the glass was going to shatter any second now.
“You okay?” he asked the old woman, looking at her again.
She was still staring at the group of people, her body motionless, her face expressionless. And finally she looked at him, her eyes glassy and blank—no emotion there. “You . . . you came to . . . the places we went . . . fire . . . and . . . and those . . . those things . . .” She seemed to be struggling to speak for a moment, struggling to find the right words she wanted to say, confused.
“I’m sorry,” Ray said, trying to sound as calm and gentle as he could. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
The old woman huffed out a frustrated sigh and looked back at the collection of people trying to storm the bank’s doors. She licked her lips, and then there was a sudden fierceness in her eyes.
She’s in shock, Ray told himself.
No, something’s wrong with this woman. Something’s wrong with a lot of these people here.
The word plague popped into his mind. He remembered John saying something about a plague, and Doug had been sure that it was some kind of bioweapon, an airborne rabies virus; at least that’s what his secret contact down at the Atlanta headquarters had told him. Was this woman sick with some kind of disease like that? What about some of the other people here? Was it contagious? Was he getting infected just standing here next to this woman?
Ray had to calm down. He was letting Doug’s paranoia get to him. The old woman was just in shock, that’s all. Anyone would be.
In the distance sirens wailed and popping noises echoed, popping noises that might have been gunshots. The noises sounded like they were several blocks away. Ray looked back out at the street and saw a police car working its way along the side of the road, driving over the sidewalk that was littered with trash in some areas. The lights and sirens were on, but the police car wasn’t stopping at the bank; it just kept going like there were more urgent matters to attend to at the moment. Perhaps the gunfire.
Ray looked back at the crowd and noticed that three of the young men were looking his way. They seemed to be eyeballing him, and then they whispered to each other. Maybe they thought he was affiliated with the bank. Even though he had shed his suitcoat and tie, he still wore a white button-down shirt, dark slacks, and expensive shoes. Maybe his attire was enough to mark him as the enemy; if not a bank employee, then at least a member of the evil corporate empire that these people were surely blaming this mess on.
“. . . the black guy over there,” one of the men said, nodding in Ray’s direction with hate in his eyes—hate Ray had seen so many times before in his life.
That pit of fear was rolling around in Ray’s stomach again, and there was a sizzling, electrical buzz in his mind telling him to run away.
He turned and walked quickly back to his Toyota 4-Runner. He felt like he’d just seen a pack of stray dogs that could be dangerous, and he was trying to walk away calmly, not too quickly, trying not to run and provoke these dogs into chasing him. He wanted to glance back at the men, see if they were following him, but he didn’t.
He made it to his Toyota and got inside. He shut the door and pushed the lock button down to lock all the doors. He looked at the crowd, spotting the three young men in the hoodies. They hadn’t followed him, but they were still watching him, still talking to each other.
What else could he do now? He sat there for a moment in his truck and his mind turned to money. If all of the banks were closed—and that seemed to be true—then he wasn’t going to be able to take any money out. He dug his wallet out of his back pants pocket while still keeping an eye on the crowd at the bank’s front doors. Sifting through his wallet, he counted seventy-four dollars in cash. He also had maybe three dollars and sixty-five cents worth of change in the cup holder.
That was it. That was all the cash he had until the banks decided to open their doors and fire up their ATM machines again.
Whenever that would be.
But they said they would be open by Monday, he told himself. That’s what John had told him only an hour ago. But he wasn’t so sure if he could really believe that now. Some of Doug’s warnings were beginning to seem real, seeming to make sense. But he didn’t really know what to do. If the banks opened back up on Monday, then everything would be fine. But if they didn’t, then he was going to have to think of something.
His thoughts turned to Kim and the kids. He checked his phone to see if Kim had called, but she hadn’t.
You thought she was going to call after the fight you guys had last night?
Even so, this was serious. He scrolled down the contacts for his house number and dialed.
As he listened to the ringing on the phone, he started his 4-Runner up. The motor purred as he sat there. He checked the gas gauge: it read nearly empty. Now he wished he would have waited in line to fill up the gas tank this morning.
Seventy-four dollars—that was all he had on him. Filling up the gas tank would take a big chunk of that money unless he found a place where he could use his debit card. But judging from the people at this bank, Ray didn’t think his bank card was going to be an option.
“Ray,” Kim breathed into the phone.
For a second Ray’s heart ached. Just hearing Kim’s voice brought back a sudden flash of nostalgia, a yearning for things to return to the way they used to be. He was surprised to find tears threatening, stinging his eyes. His chest was constricted and he didn’t answer right away, afraid his voice would crack.
“Ray . . . what’s happening?” Kim asked. She was scared. Maybe even crying.
“Kim,” he finally said. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“The kids?”
“The kids are fine.”
“Are they in school?”
“No. All the schools have been closed. Something about a computer virus. And there are some kind of alerts on the news. Most of the TV shows have been interrupted by news reports.”
Ray glanced at the crowd again. Those three men in the hoodies were still staring at him, starting to move away from the crowd, working their way towards his vehicle.
“What’s going on, Ray?” she asked again. It sounded like she was trying to keep her voice low so Mike and Vanessa wouldn’t hear her.
“I don’t really know,” Ray said.
The three men were definitely coming his way now. One of them pulled a short wooden stick out from underneath his hoodie. Their faces were set in anger, their eyes wild and paranoid.
Ray pressed his foot down on the brake pedal and shifted into drive. He was about to move his foot over to the gas pedal, ready to stomp down on it.
What was he waiting for?
The three young men were getting closer. And now some of the others in the mob had noticed their interest, and they were turning around, beginning to follow them.
“Ray?” Kim said again. “Where are you? Are you at work?”
“No. They closed our department down.”
A sharp intake of breath from his wife. “They . . . what do you mean, they closed it down?”
“I don’t know. All the doors were locked. None of our keycards worked. Can’t get a hold of Craig or anyone else.”
The three men started running towards Ray, two of them waving sticks. The third one had what looked like a rock or piece of brick.
Ray stomped the gas pedal down, turning the steering wheel to head back out to the street. But his rear tires were spinning on the grass median he was parked on, not gaining any
traction for a moment.
One of the men was screaming something as he got closer and closer to Ray’s truck.
Finally, the tires grabbed traction and he sped out towards the entrance of the bank. But even if he got out of the parking area, the traffic was still backed up. He would be a sitting duck as this mob attacked his vehicle, smashing out the windows, rocking his SUV back and forth. TV news clips of looters in recent riots flashed through his mind like a montage. He saw a burning vehicle in his mind, the footage shot from a helicopter as a rioter pulled the driver out, beating him to death.
What if they burn my vehicle? Set it on fire?
“Ray!” Kim’s voice screeched from the phone. “Ray, what are you doing? Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” he grunted as he turned the steering wheel sharply, maneuvering his 4-Runner towards the street. The phone dropped from its spot between his shoulder and his ear. It fell down into the center console and then bounced over onto the passenger seat, on top of his suitcoat and tie.
Ray didn’t reach for the phone; he kept his hands on the steering wheel as he drove towards the entrance/exit of the bank. But he didn’t quite make it all the way to the apron of pavement, driving right over some of the decorative shrubs and flowers that lined the entrance of the bank. He bounced around in the truck as it crashed from the curb down onto the street. He pulled out in front of another vehicle, praying that he wouldn’t crash into it. He could imagine his vehicle locked onto another vehicle, stuck there in the middle of the road; he’d be helpless and trapped inside his vehicle as the mob surrounded it.
He missed the other vehicle by inches, and corrected his 4-Runner right away. He wanted to look behind him to see if the mob was following him, but he didn’t want to waste the precious seconds, and he didn’t want to take his eyes off the road.
But the road was still thick with traffic, and they weren’t moving anywhere anytime soon. That mob of people would catch up to his truck in seconds. His only option was going to be the sidewalk. The cop car had driven down part of the sidewalk, and now Ray would do the same thing.
Kim’s voice squawked from the phone, and he could make out some of what she was saying: “Ray! Ray, are you still there? What’s going on?”
No doubt Kim could hear the revving of his truck’s motor, his screeching tires, the impacts with the shrubs and plants, the honking horns of other cars and trucks.
“I’m okay!” he yelled at the phone, even though he didn’t really feel okay right now.
He chanced a glance at the rearview mirror and saw that the mob had followed him right out into the street. More of them had sticks and some were already throwing rocks at the back window.
Ray turned right and gunned the gas, driving right up onto the sidewalk, praying that no one would step out from one of the businesses and walk right out in front of him. He honked his horn as he sped down the sidewalk.
“Where are you, Ray? What’s going on?”
Ray didn’t have time to answer. He focused all of his attention on getting to the next intersection. Just as the light turned green, he drove off of the sidewalk, cutting in front of a car. He pulled out into the intersection, pulling right out in front of a delivery truck that had been turning the same way. The truck slammed on its brakes, its tires squealing. The driver honked his horn, cussing at him.
This side street was busy, but it wasn’t nearly as congested as the other one, at least traffic was moving a little on this street. He sped up as much as he could, tailgating another vehicle while he looked for another side street to turn onto, somewhere he could turn around so he could head back the other way.
He glanced down at the gas gauge—less than a quarter of a tank left. He was going to need to find gas somewhere before he got home.
“Ray!”
He grabbed the phone from the passenger seat and held it up to his ear. “I’m okay, Kim. I was at the bank, trying to get some money out—”
“All the banks are closed. That’s what they’re saying on TV.”
“Yeah, I know. There was this group of people there, beating at the bank doors.”
“Oh God, Ray.”
“They chased me. I don’t know why. But I’m okay. I’m coming home.”
Home. Was it still his home anymore?
“I just need to stop for some gas,” Ray added. “I think I can make it all the way home with the gas I have, but I don’t know how long the gas pumps are going to be working and I want to fill the tank up.”
“Ray, I don’t know . . . if people chased you . . .”
“I’ll find somewhere safe. Listen to me, Kim. I want you to stay inside the house. I don’t want you to go outside, not even to talk to the neighbors. Make sure Mike and Vanessa stay inside, too. I want you to lock the doors. Lock all the windows. Close all the curtains. Don’t answer the door for anyone. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“Okay. Just . . . just hurry.”
Ray heard a beeping on his phone—another call was coming in. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen.
It was Craig calling.
He put the phone back up to his ear as he turned his 4-Runner around in a driveway. He backed out onto the side street and heard the blaring of a car horn and screeching tires right behind him. He turned around and looked out the rear window of his Toyota. A dark blue Ford Taurus was there, mere feet away from the back of his truck. He hadn’t even seen the car coming. The car backed up, the front tires barking just a bit, then the car sped around him. He breathed out a sigh of relief and shifted into drive, heading back towards the side road, the road that would take him back home.
“Listen, Kim,” he said into the phone. “I’ve got another call I need to take.”
“Who?”
The phone beeped again.
“It’s Craig. I need to take this. Just lock everything up and stay inside.”
“I will. Love you.”
Ray almost said “Love you, too.” But he didn’t as he hung up. He immediately regretted it; keeping his vow of love from her suddenly felt like a petty and mean-spirited thing to do. He pressed the button and the call went to Craig.
“Craig, I called you earlier,” Ray said into the phone. “The doors were locked at work. Our keycards weren’t working—”
Craig cut Ray’s words off: “I know, Ray. Listen to me for a minute. I don’t have a lot of time and there are some things I need to tell you.”
“What things? About work?”
“Don’t worry about work anymore. There is no work anymore. Everything has changed.”
CHAPTER 4
“What do you mean there’s no work anymore?” Ray said into the phone as he drove down towards the next road. “Are we shut down? Is it because of the economy?”
“Yes,” Craig snapped. “The economy is collapsing. But it’s more than that. Everything is collapsing . . .”
There was a blast of static on the phone, and then silence.
“Craig. Craig, are you still there?”
Another fizzle of static, and then: “Yeah, I’m here.”
“What do you mean everything is collapsing?” Ray asked.
“Look,” Craig barked into Ray’s ear on the phone. “Like I said, I don’t have a lot of time. Cell phones are going to go down soon, so if there’s anyone you need to call, any arrangements that you need to make, then go ahead and do that as quickly as possible after you get off the phone with me.”
“Cell phones are going to go down? How do you know that?”
“I just do. I don’t have time to explain everything right now. Just please trust me on this.”
“So it’s really happening?” Ray said. He felt that overwhelming sense of numbing shock again. “The economy is really collapsing.”
“Yes, don’t worry about going to the bank—they’re all shut down now, all assets frozen.”
“I know. I just went to the bank and these people, they chased me. Threw rocks at my truck.”
“It’s much more than just that,” Craig said, snapping at Ray again.
“What do you mean?”
Ray spotted a gas station. There were lines of cars and trucks at the gas pumps. He pulled in behind a car that was right behind a pickup truck, where a large man in a flannel shirt and camouflage pants was pumping diesel gas into his truck. Ray left his Toyota running as he waited in line. He made sure the doors were still locked.
There were a lot of people inside the gas station store, and Ray could see through the plate-glass windows that there were a lot of people in line. Others were hurrying out of the store to their vehicles with armfuls of groceries and drinks. Some had wide eyes of panic, others the flaccid expression of shock.
Ray had known Craig for years—Craig was a pragmatic, down-to-earth guy. He wasn’t one who lied; he wasn’t one who even exaggerated or spread rumors. This person on the phone didn’t sound like the Craig he had known for so long now. This Craig was agitated, on the verge of panic.
“The economy is collapsing,” Craig said, his words rushed. “And it’s not coming back. It’s not ever coming back. But there are bigger problems than that. Much bigger. Things . . . something’s happening to people. The government’s known about it for the last few weeks; they tried to suppress it but they can’t sit on it anymore. And there’s nothing that can be done about it now.”
Ray’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? Like an outbreak?” He thought of the airborne rabies virus that Doug had been talking about earlier.
“. . . possible . . . breakdown . . .”
“Craig! You’re breaking up. I didn’t hear you.”
The large man in the flannel shirt and camo pants had finished filling up his truck, and the car in front of Ray had taken his place. A woman waited by the car while a man ran to the store to pay for the gas. Obviously the customers were able to pay for the gas here, so that must mean that they were taking cash—for the moment anyway.
Another blast of static hissed from the cell phone. It sounded like Craig was still there, like he was trying to say something through the fuzz of static.
