Pandora (Book 5): Behold A Pale Horse Page 6

  He went into the bathroom and brought out the white plastic pail that he had given her before.

  “I’m all stiff,” she said squirming under the sheets. “It’s cold in here.” Steve lifted the comforter up and covered her with it. “Maybe I’ll sleep,” she said,

  He kissed her on the cheek and left the room. He was going to close the door, but thought better of it and decided to leave it open in case she called to him. Steve descended the stairs and walked back into the kitchen. Walking up to the sink, he stood there, gripping the granite counter. Breathing heavily, he thought, Jesus, I hope I can keep this up. I feel so sick. He took the shiny chrome teapot and spilled the now tepid remaining water out into the sink. As he stood there with a pot in his hand, he looked down at its mirror-like surface. Two red, filmy eyes stared back at him. Shit, he thought, I have to pick Billy and Dwayne up in an hour.

  He put the teapot on the counter and turned away. Abruptly, he spun back around and grabbed the counter again. Steve made a gargled, burping noise, and then vomited into the sink. When he finished, he opened his eyes and looked down. The sink was dark with blood.

  § § §

  The cell phone chirped its electronic tune. Patrick reached into his pocket and looked at the name displayed. Pressing the talk button and putting it up to his ear he answered.

  “Hi, Mike, how are you?”

  His brother responded, “Good, little brother. How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. Just parked the car and I’m heading into the hardware store for some stuff.”

  “Good,” Mike replied. “Stocking on the essentials?”

  “As a matter of fact I am,” Patrick said.

  “Excellent,” Mike said. “I think the shit is going to hit the fan real soon. It’s already getting crazy down here.”

  “Ha,” Patrick chuffed. “It’s like a zoo here, too. All the animals are out.”

  “Hey, Pat,” Mike asked seriously, “you still have that Sig Sauer, don’t you?”

  Patrick paused for a second. “Yeah, I do,” he said.

  “Good,” Mike replied. “Go to the gun shop and load up with ammo. I have a feeling it might come in handy.” When his brother didn’t say anything immediately, Mike said, “Come on, Pat. I think you know this situation is serious. If what is happening in Europe and Asia happens here, we’re going to be ass deep in shit in no time. I know you can already see it happening, bro. Just do me a favor and stock up on ammo. Hey, if nothing happens, you’ll have plenty for the range.”

  Patrick was vacillating between exasperation with his brother’s survivalist rant and worry that he might be right. Looking down the street, he noticed a gun shop about four doors down from the hardware store. Well, he thought, I guess that settles it.

  “Okay Mike,” Patrick said, “I’m going there right now.”

  “Good for you,” Mike said happily. “Call me when you’re done shopping.”

  They both said their goodbyes and Patrick put the phone back in his pocket. Pausing for second at the front entrance of the hardware store, he turned and continued down the street. Coming to Phil’s Armory, he walked in. There were four people in the store already. Two people were behind the counter helping the customers. The young man was taking care of a thirty-year-old woman. There was a small handgun on the counter.

  “But, I have to wait four months before I can get a permit?” she said.

  “For a handgun,” the young man said, “but not for a rifle.”

  She looked up at the wall, where there was a collection of various rifles hanging.

  “But isn’t a small gun easier?” she asked.

  The young man smiled patiently, “Depends on what you’re using it for.”

  “Self-defense,” she replied, frustrated,

  “Ma’am,” he said, “you’re not going to be able to carry it anyway. It’s for your home; a rifle will work just as well. Think of it as a long camera. Just point and shoot.”

  Patrick walked past them. Although amused, he could understand her exasperation. At the other end of the counter, an older man was waiting on two middle-aged men. He had a huge smile on his face. Looking down at the counter in front of the two men he could see why. There was a pile of weapons laid out in front of them, both rifles and handguns. He could see that some of the larger rifles were just this side of legal. He wondered what Phil was hiding in the back.

  Another younger man was looking at the weapons hanging on the walls. He seemed to be wandering aimlessly. As Patrick looked at the older shop owner smiling at the two men, he could see the flinty expression in his eyes as he periodically would watch the young man.

  Patrick walked to the counter and the younger salesman turned to him and said, “I’ll be right with you, sir.”

  Patrick nodded with a smile and looked into the glass display cases as he waited. He heard the door chime ring and looked over to see the young man leave. Looking back at the older man, he could see the relief on his face.

  The woman excused herself and walked away from the counter as she took out her phone and made a call.

  The younger salesman walked over and said, “Hi, welcome to Phil’s. I’m Claude. What can I do for you?”

  “Hi,” Patrick said, “I am looking to stock up on some 9 mm ammo.”

  “How many rounds are we looking at?”

  “Uh,” said Patrick, “let’s say a hundred rounds. No, wait. Let’s make it two hundred.”

  “I think we could manage that,” Claude said.

  “While I’m at it,” Patrick said, “can I see that Taurus Revolver in the case?”

  “Nice piece,” remarked Claude. “Real good stopping power. Takes a .454 round. Also loads .410 shot shells if you want.” He took it out and handed it to Patrick. He hefted the gun and inspected it as Claude piled the 9 mm boxes on the counter.

  Running a credit card through the machine, Phil said to the two men, “Why don’t you go and bring your car around to the back entrance and we’ll load your purchases into the trunk.” The two men shook hands with him and left the store.

  “So, what do you think?” Claude asked Patrick as she put the ammo in a large shopping bag.

  “You are right, Claude. This is a very nice piece. I really like it, but I unfortunately left my permit at home. I didn’t think I was going to be stopping by. My bad. I’ll have to come back tomorrow.” Phil came over and they chatted while Claude ran up the ammunition sale.

  Saying goodbye, Patrick opened the door and stepped outside. An ambulance raced by, siren wailing. A second later, a police car sped by in the same direction. As Patrick watched them pass, he noticed the young man who had been in the store before standing a couple of stores down. He was at the curb talking to two other guys who were leaning against a car. The three boys looked jumpy and kept looking over at the gun store. The young man was talking and the other two men nodding at him. The first man reached behind him and pulled a watch cap over his ears while glancing again at the store.

  Patrick stepped back and reentered the gun shop. Phil looked at him with a questioning gaze.

  “Uh, Phil?” Patrick said walking quickly to the counter. “I see your young friend from before outside with a couple of his buddies. I think they’re going to be coming back here to pay you a visit”

  Phil turned to Claude and said, “Go lock the door and get back behind the counter.”

  Patrick stood aside also. The lady on the phone suddenly became aware that there might be some trouble coming. She kept looking back and forth between Phil and the newly locked door. Her mouth opened and closed silently.

  Phil reached under the counter and then walked to the center of the store. He was about twenty feet from the front door. Patrick could see that he was holding something large and shiny held behind his leg.

  From outside on the sidewalk, the three young men came walking up. The paused for a second as one of the men looked up and down the block. Then they stepped up and the young man with watch cap over his ears pushed
on the door handle. The wooden door rattled as the lock held. The young man looked confused and again tried. He shook the door harder and harder as he grew angry. Glaring through the glass panel standing in front of him, he made a fist and started banging the door hard. As he did, he reached a hand inside of his jacket.

  As soon as his hand moved, Phil brought his hand up from behind his leg. He held it straight in front of him pointing at the three men. In his hand was an immense semi-automatic Desert Eagle pistol. It fired a .44 Magnum round, chambering the largest centerfire cartridge of any magazine-fed, self-loading pistol. All in all, it looked very imposing.

  The man in the doorway froze with eyes so wide that Patrick thought they would pop out of his head. Then, he and his friend in back of him turned and ran. They knocked the third man on his back in their frantic race to get away. The last man scrambled to his feet, like a beetle righting itself, and fled after his friends. A moment later, the sound of an engine starting and tires squealing signaled their retreat.

  Phil’s stood there a moment longer, and then dropped his hand to his side. Turning to Claude, he smiled and said, “Well, all right then.” He then turned to Patrick and said, “Thanks. I appreciate the heads up. That could’ve been ugly.”

  Patrick let out a breath and replied, “You handled that well.”

  Looking out the door as another ambulance sped by, siren wailing, Phil nodded and said, “Desperate times.”

  Forgotten and shaking across the store, the woman looked at Claude and said in a trembling voice, “Alright, I’ll take whatever gun you think I’ll need.”

  Patrick took a step to the door to leave when Phil stopped him and said, “You liked that Taurus Raging Judge Magnum. Here.” He took the revolver and grabbed a few boxes of shells for the piece. Walking over, he placed them in Patrick’s bag. “A token of my thanks. You said you’d probably be back tomorrow, but I have a feeling that we might not be here tomorrow.”

  “Let me at least pay you for that,” Patrick said appreciatively.

  Phil smiled and shook his head. “Don’t worry. I think tomorrow all of these credit card sales aren’t going to mean a thing.”

  The two men solemnly shook hands. Leaving the store, decided to forgo the hardware store and walked to his car. He wanted to be home when Dwayne and Erica arrived.

  § § §

  Forty-five minutes later, Anne finally pulled her car to the pump. The gas station owner was just placing new signs on the pumps

  “We’re all out of regular and supreme,” he said. “Only premium left.”

  “Just great,” she said in disgust. “This day gets better and better.”

  Anne inserted her credit card and pressed premium. She stood there as the tank started to fill. Luckily, I don’t need a whole lot of gas, she thought. Her headache was much worse and the cloying smell of the fuel was beginning to make her nauseous. Maybe I’ll take a ride to that Super Target out on Route 43, she thought. That’s a big store and they can’t already be sold out, too

  The gas pump dinged and she replaced the nozzle back into its holder.

  Driving off, she thought to call her husband and tell him where she was. Using the buttons on the steering wheel to make the call through Bluetooth, she heard Patrick’s phone ring.

  Connecting, Patrick said, “Hi, Anne. Everything okay?”

  “Yes,” she said. “The Quik-Chek was completely sold out of everything. I just got gas and I’m headed over to the Target on 43. They should still have what I need.”

  A police car sped by her as she was approaching the entrance ramp for the highway.

  “I don’t know,” Patrick said questioningly, “maybe you should just come home. It’s starting to get a little crazy out there.”

  “I’ll be okay,” she told him. “It’s only fifteen minutes down the highway. I’ll just pop in, get what I need and then come home.”

  “I don’t know...” Patrick reiterated.

  “Oh, poo,” she said dismissively, “I’ll be home in a few.”

  “Well, okay,” Patrick reluctantly acquiesced. “But if there’s any trouble, I want you to come right home. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “I love you.”

  “Love you too, darling,” he said warmly.

  Route 43 was one of the major highways in the area. It ran from one side of the state to the other. As Anne got closer to her destination, the traffic began to slow, as more and more cars entered the highway. The fifteen minute trip wound up taking almost thirty minutes. There were several fender benders off to the sides. Route 43 had stores lining both sides of the road and people entering and exiting the parking lots were creating problems as impatience, frustration and road rage led to several accidents.

  Anne finally reached the Super Target. She pulled into the crowded parking lot and found a space near the entrance. Turning off the car, she sat there for a second. In the time it took her to get gas and arrive here, she felt much worse. Anne gave a short burp and tasted bile. It had a disturbing coppery tang to it. She took a calming breath and got out. Crossing over to the front entrance she saw a small crowd gathered. Apparently, some woman must have passed out. She could see her lying on the sidewalk near the door. A man was holding her head.

  Walking inside, she found a cart and directed it to the supermarket section of the large store. The shoppers inside seem to be in tensely fearful. She passed a number of brightly colored benches lining the wall between the multiple checkout lanes and the wide opening to the food section. The people sitting on these benches all looked ill. More than a few looked downright ghastly. Anne noticed that several were slumped over sleeping. Either they came in sick to shop or their families brought them with them and left them to sit while they shopped, she thought.

  Knowing that water was always the first item to disappear from the shelves, Anne made her way there first. Turning into the aisle she saw that it was bare. All of the water was gone.

  “Oh, shit,” she said aloud. She then turned and went to the soda and snack aisle. I hate doing this, she thought, but beggars can’t be choosers. Finding most of the soda also empty, she put the last two Coke Zero six-packs into her cart. As she wheeled the wagon out of the snack aisle, she saw a young woman reaching up for a big bag of pretzels. Anne smiled to herself and shook her head. Right before she passed, the woman turned. Anne noticed a very young child seated in the shopping cart. The little girl was slumped over apparently asleep. As the young woman turned and reached to put the bag of pretzels into her half empty cart, she banged into the side of the wagon. The little girl was jostled to the side. As the young mother reached past her, the child sat up and grabbed ahold of the mother’s arm. She darted her head in and took a large bite out of her forearm. The ragged, circular wound immediately gushed blood which shot across the lane. As the mother jerked her arm back aghast, the force of her movement made the cart roll back toward the woman again. Anne could see that she was very pregnant. As the cart’s handle hit her protruding stomach, the child again lunged forward. There was about a gap of about two inches between her maternity top and the waistband of her pull-on stretch pants. The child’s teeth opened and clamped on to this band of flesh. The frantic mother, blood gushing from her arm, started hitting the child on the head.

  Just then a man passed by, and seeing this, rushed in and grabbed the mother’s arms. He kept shouting, “What are you doing?”

  The child pulled her head away. She had a piece of flesh in her mouth and was covered in blood. The mother was still caterwauling at the top of her lungs. When the man intervening looked down at the child, he gave a short yelp and let go of the mother’s arms. She immediately bounded back and slammed into the shelves behind her. Bags of snack food flew everywhere. She tried to grasp onto the shelves for support, but her eyes rolled up in her head and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

  The man, now realizing what was transpiring, was horrified and spun around to flee. His feet slid on the blood covered tiles and he fell onto his
side in the gore. In total panic, he consciously reached out and grabbed the wagon to pull himself up. As he grasped the edge of the cart, the young child turned and took a bite out of the back of his hand.

  All the while this was unfolding, Anne, standing there with her cart, started backing up. By the time the man fell down she had turned and run down the aisle away from the hellish scene. She had just turned the corner when the man started to scream. Anne put her shaking hands to her ears and tried to block out the horrendous noise. She had begun to cry. Taking two steps forward, Anne bent over and vomited. Spitting and coughing, she opened her eyes, and looking down, saw both fresh and black, clotted blood on the floor in front of her.

  “No, no, no,” she mumbled as she staggered away.

  She was running when she passed the benches along the wall. In her peripheral vision she saw some of the figures on the benches struggling with each other. But none of that mattered. She had to get to her car and go home. Patrick was right. She shouldn’t have come here. This was all so terrible.