by Lukens, Mark
Max turned to Lance. “Thank you again for helping us.”
Lance stood next to Crystal. Dale—who had his paintball mask hanging down under his chin on a strap—stood a few feet beyond them. The other guys from the pickup trucks weren’t around. Maybe they were off doing something else.
Tiger meowed from his cage. Kate picked up the carrying case, Brooke watching her every move.
“How many do you have here?” Max asked Lance.
Lance glanced at Crystal, their eyes locking on each other for just a moment. He shrugged. “I haven’t counted everyone up.” He seemed to be running names through his mind at lighting speed. “Maybe almost thirty.”
“A little over thirty now,” Crystal said. “With you four.”
Neal was back at his tent, sitting down on an overturned bucket.
Patrick had lost interest in his children’s book and scooted right up closer to Rebecca.
For some reason Max didn’t think Patrick was Rebecca’s son—actually, the odds of two people being immune to the Ripper Plague in the same family seemed pretty high to Max. But Patrick seemed to latch on to Rebecca like she was his mother, much like Brooke had become attached to Kate.
“Alright,” Lance said. “We’ll go to the meeting room where you can meet Miss Jo, the manager.”
CHAPTER 31
Kate
Once again Kate followed Max as he followed Lance and Crystal, with Petra behind them all. Kate held Tiger’s carrying case in one hand and she held Brooke’s hand. They left the store and walked back through the double doors they had come through before. They took a left down another hall, heading toward a light in the distance shining out of a doorway.
“The meeting room’s in there,” Lance said, gesturing at the doorway. “I’ll go get Jo. She must be in her office.”
Crystal led them into the meeting room. The battery-powered lantern on the middle of the table gave off a surprising amount of light, enough for Kate to easily see the whole room. On one wall beyond the head of the table was a whiteboard, about the size of a schoolroom chalkboard, with writing all over it in different-colored markers.
“Have a seat,” Crystal said. “You want something to drink?” She walked over to a few cases of water stacked up on a side table. She didn’t wait for an answer, pulling out a few bottles of water and setting them on the table.
Kate set the carrying case down on the table in front of Brooke, sitting down right beside her. Max and Petra sat next to each other on the other side of the table. Crystal sat down at the opposite end of the head of the table, obviously saving that seat for the manager.
A flashlight beam shined from down the hall, growing brighter in the doorway. A few seconds later a large woman entered the room with Lance right behind her. Lance stepped to the side of the doorway, waiting in the corner of the room like a guard.
“Hello, all,” the manager said with a big smile. She was at least five foot ten and had to be over two hundred pounds. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a bun. She looked like she could be anywhere from her early forties to her late fifties, her pale skin free of wrinkles but ruddy. Her light green eyes were piercing but warm. She wore black clothing, a new baggy sweatshirt and slacks. She wore clogs with thick socks. She had a quiet confidence, the air of a natural leader.
“Hi,” Kate answered.
“Hello,” Max said.
Petra just grunted a greeting that was almost inaudible. She eyed the woman suspiciously.
“My name’s JoAnne,” the manager said. “But everybody calls me Miss Jo, or just Jo. Whatever you prefer.”
“I’m Kate.”
“Max.”
“Petra,” she grumbled.
“And this is Brooke,” Kate said.
Jo’s face lit up when she looked at Brooke. “Pleased to meet you, Brooke. How old are you?”
Brooke didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away from Jo—it was almost like she was hypnotized by her.
“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “She doesn’t talk a lot.”
“At first, anyway,” Max said with a smile.
“She’s been through some terrible times,” Kate said.
“Yes, of course,” Jo answered, nodding like she understood—her eyes said she’d seen some terrible things herself. “You have a cat.”
“Yeah,” Max said. “We found him in a trailer park. We call him Tiger.” Then he stiffened, suddenly tense and worried. “Do you allow pets here?”
Jo thought about it for a second, frowning. “We never really made a rule about that. So many things were overlooked or never even considered. Especially at first.” She smiled. “But we’re learning as we go.”
“Well, I’d say you’re doing an incredible job,” Max said.
Jo looked at Tiger in his pet carrier. “We don’t have any pets here now. But I don’t think it would hurt to have Tiger here.”
Kate watched Brooke, waiting for her to crack a smile, but she didn’t.
“Maybe Tiger could help catch some mice around here.”
“You have mice here?” Max asked.
“Well, probably more like rats,” Jo said. “We haven’t seen too many, and we’ve put some traps out, but I’m sure they’ll eventually try to get to some of the dry goods. We have to be so protective of what we’ve got here.”
Max nodded like he could definitely agree with that.
“What do you think?” Jo said, turning back to Brooke. “You think Tiger could help us catch some rats?”
Brooke just shrugged, staring at Jo.
“I haven’t seen many cats,” Jo said. “Or dogs.”
“I’ve seen a few dogs,” Max said. “But most seem to be feral and travel in packs for protection.”
“I’ve seen a few of those packs out on our runs,” Lance said. “And believe me, they’re not pets anymore. I think cats might have been more suited to survive in this case than dogs.” He nodded at Tiger in the carrying case.
Kate could tell that Max was breathing out a sigh of relief that Jo wasn’t forbidding the cat to be there. She couldn’t imagine having to set Tiger free outside and Brooke losing it. Kate was certain that caring for Tiger had helped Brooke cope somewhat with this nightmare they were living in.
Brooke moved closer to Kate and whispered into her ear.
Jo smiled, waiting patiently for an interpretation.
“She wants to know if you have any cat food,” Kate said.
“Of course,” Jo said, looking right at Brooke. “We probably have more cat food than Tiger could eat in five years.”
Brooke finally cracked the ghost of a smile. Kate put an arm around her thin shoulders, giving her a squeeze.
“We didn’t get our guns back,” Petra said.
Jo’s eyes flicked to Petra, and then she looked at Lance.
He nodded at her.
“You can have them back if you want them,” Jo told Petra. “But what we usually do is pool all of our weapons and resources together. We share.”
Petra looked dubious about that.
“Lance said you’re rebuilding here,” Max said quickly, like he was trying to change the subject.
Jo nodded. “That’s our intention, our long-term goal. We have long-term goals, but we also have short-term goals like surviving the winter, shoring up our defenses, looking for supplies and resources that we don’t have here, or just restocking our supply. Collecting what we can before others take it.”
“Like the Dark Angels,” Petra said.
Jo nodded again. “I see you’re familiar with them.”
“We’ve all run into them before.”
“And lived to tell about it,” Jo said. “That’s impressive.”
“So, you really think we can rebuild eventually?” Max asked.
“We have to,” Jo said. “We’re all that’s left. We’re the survivors. It might take ten years or it might take a hundred, but we have to defeat the rippers. And we have to defeat gangs like the Dark Angels, and others like them.
Or we have to make some kind of truce with them.” She paused for just a moment, glancing at each of them, but her eyes finally steadied on Kate. “That’s why we need more people. People are just as valuable as food and water. Not just for labor, but also for ideas. We need to stand together as survivors. Stay strong and work together.”
“So, we can stay?” Max asked.
“Of course,” Jo said, almost like his question had hurt her feelings. “For as long as you want to.”
“We’re planning on going down to Florida,” Petra said.
“Or up north,” Max added. “Kate thinks a lot of the rippers might freeze to death up there during the winter.”
Jo nodded. “I guess that’s possible. But from what we’ve seen, the rippers seem to have adapted pretty well to the cold and the elements.”
Kate thought once again of how primitive humans had been able to survive harsh winters in the past.
“But going north eventually is something to think about,” Jo added quickly, like she was afraid of offending their suggestion.
“What you’ve got here,” Max said, “what you’ve done so far, it’s absolutely amazing. How did you do it, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I wouldn’t want to bore you with that,” Jo said with a smile.
“Please,” Max said. “We’d like to hear it.”
CHAPTER 32
Jo
Jo thought back to when it had begun, the day the world collapsed. It had been coming for weeks: society deteriorating, the economy crumbling, mobs of people protesting, military and police presence everywhere. Jo had seen reports on the news, but there were even more worrisome reports on the internet, reports that weren’t matching up with what they were saying on the news.
She lived in the small town of Perry, but she’d seen the meltdown even here in this usually peaceful mountain town of twenty thousand people.
Jo had grown up forty miles east and knew these counties well. People were friendly in this area, small towns dotting the valleys and hillsides. She’d worked as a manager at a Wal-Mart for fifteen years in Carsonville, and when she’d heard they were building a Super Bea’s in Perry, closer to where she lived, she jumped on it, hoping to get a general manager position, but willing to take a cut in pay to be closer to home.
She lived alone; it had been a long time since she’d had a relationship. She’d had a few relationships when she was younger, tumultuous affairs, and she just wasn’t ready for that again. Her parents were dead and her younger sister barely spoke to her anymore. She got a few token calls or cards on holidays from distant relatives. She lived in her small apartment and squirreled away her money into a retirement account, but a lot of good that money was doing now that the economy had collapsed. Her work had been her life for the last fifteen years, and she took pride in running this store. Maybe some might see her life as empty, but she felt like she had an impact on people’s lives, on her customers’ lives and her employees’ lives. She was fair with them but firm.
In her apartment Jo had watched some of the footage from riots around the country, and around the world. They seemed like big-city problems, hopefully not something they would have to deal with in Perry, North Carolina.
But as the days went on, things got worse. By Tuesday Jo had created big signs in the food department of the store, limiting customers to only two cases of water, two cases of soda and beer, three loaves of bread, among other restrictions. But the people weren’t listening. Families would show up in the checkout lanes with carts full of food and drinks, begging or threatening the cashier.
Jo had been called so many times to help out the cashiers. She remembered a tall man with a big bushy beard and glasses. He had the acrid stench of nervous sweat. “I have to think about me and my family first!” he had yelled at her.
Jo had called the cops. The police were spread thin, but they were able to send two officers. Jo asked two of her more burly stockers to act as “security.” Many of her employees hadn’t shown up and the cashiers who had were dealing with a nightmare.
By that Wednesday the internet was in and out, so credit cards and debit cards weren’t working. Jo had more signs made up, both inside and outside: CASH ONLY.
Jo had to turn so many families away who didn’t have cash. Children cried. Adults cried. Some of them threatened to sue. Some of them threatened violence. She hated to do it, but she had the orders from corporate—she couldn’t give the stuff in the store away.
The shelves were getting bare by Wednesday night. Jo had more stock in the back, but she’d made the decision not to restock (one of the reasons was that her stockers were now mostly working as cashiers or as security, including watching the double doors by the electronics department that led into the back, and to the loading bay doors—a few customers had tried to storm their way into the back, swearing they knew food and water were being hidden from them).
Jo was sure martial law was going to be declared soon. Many large cities had already implemented martial law and curfews, states of emergency. She’d seen footage shot from helicopters of people looting drug stores and supermarkets, crawling in and out of broken windows. They looked like ants from the vantage point of the helicopter, little ants carrying whatever they could. Most of the people down there wore masks or cloths over their faces, some to hide their identities, but others wore them to help protect themselves against a plague that was rumored on the internet to be going around.
At this time Jo wasn’t so sure the plague was real. She’d checked out a couple of videos online, but who could believe what you saw online these days? She remembered hearing about Orson Wells broadcasting War of the Worlds on Halloween night in 1938, but pretending that it was a real radio broadcast, like an alien invasion was really happening. She’d heard it had caused a lot of panic, and she thought these rumors about the plague might be like that—at least she hoped it was. Fake videos and rumors could spread through cyberspace at light-speed, reaching every corner of the world, inciting fear and panic. And it seemed like people wanted to believe the worst—they wanted to be ready for it.
By Wednesday night Jo was sure a state-wide martial law was coming and that her store would be controlled by the police and/or the military. Until then, she wanted to make sure that all of her customers got a fair chance at purchasing food and supplies, and that they were safe inside her store.
By Thursday she couldn’t guarantee that safety for her customers or her employees. She had opened the store for a few hours, then closed it down again. The two police officers there had actually helped her get the customers out of the store and help her lock the doors. Jo had closed the rolling metal security gates in front of the doors, locking them in place. The security gates were meant for hurricanes and other disasters, but they would be useful now in case the looters tried to get in through the sliding glass doors. They might be able to break the glass of the doors, but they weren’t going to get in through the metal mesh security doors. Two of her “security” stockers had helped her make large CLOSED signs. They taped those to the windows along with black poster boards and a few pieces of plywood they’d found in the loading bay. Hopefully all of these barriers would be a deterrent. She hoped the looters wouldn’t try to break into the store. She didn’t think it would get that bad.
But she had no idea how bad it was going to get.
While the phones had still been working, she’d been in touch with the district manager that morning; he had told her to close the store down until further notice. Stores were getting ransacked in Asheville and Greensboro, people were attacked, several killed. Police had come in riot gear. People were panicking, grabbing food and water from the shelves, trying to run out of the store with shopping carts full of food and water.
There had been reports of small gangs with guns, and of mobs of people acting like animals. Murders. Even reports of people trying to eat the dead people.
She had closed the store down, leaving Cynthia, her assistant manager, in charge. She drov
e home to her apartment. She packed an overnight bag with a few changes of clothes. She added a photo album, an envelope of important papers, two paperback novels, a small plastic pouch with bathroom stuff in it, her cell phone charger, the one thousand dollars in cash she had in a locked metal box in her closet. She made sure everything in the apartment was shut off. She had no pets, nobody to take care of, nobody to notify. She took one last look around the apartment and then locked the door and left. She planned on going back to her store and staying there for the next few nights.
On her walk back downstairs, she stopped by an apartment with the door wide open.
It was Miss Ruth’s apartment. She knew right away that something was terribly wrong.
CHAPTER 33
Jo
Jo hesitated by the open doorway of the apartment. The apartment complex she lived in was made up of six buildings, each of them three stories high. She lived on the third floor and now she was on the second floor where Miss Ruth lived, her door wide open. The apartment door across the landing was closed and the stairs that led down to the ground floor were straight ahead.
An urge to get back to the store pulled at Jo, an urge to ignore the open door and to just keep moving—she had people at her store waiting on her, people depending on her. She’d never been one for premonitions, but she had the feeling that something awful lay inside the gloom of that apartment.
But she couldn’t go down the stairs. She had been casually friendly with people in her building, but she knew Miss Ruth the best. Miss Ruth was an old woman who lived alone. Her husband had died years ago in a car accident, a sudden death that had left Miss Ruth without much money. But she managed to make ends meet, stretching her social security paychecks and scrimping when she needed to. And she always kept a brave and happy face, never asking for anything.
Jo liked Miss Ruth, but she also felt sorry for her. She saw a little of herself in the old woman, a possible glimpse of her own future. But she also looked at Miss Ruth as a cautionary tale. Miss Ruth hadn’t saved her money when she was younger, and she had depended on a husband who hadn’t managed their money well at all. Jo loved Miss Ruth dearly, but she didn’t want to end up like her, finding a motivation from her to make different choices in life.
