by Mark Goodwin
“Oh, these are good!” Micah held up a can of tamales. “Pop them in the microwave and sprinkle some cheese on them. It’s a fine meal.”
“Where did you eat those?” Josh examined the can.
Micah’s face lost its spunk. “At Kendra’s.”
“Did you talk to her today?”
“Yeah.” His voice was unenthusiastic.
“You told her she could come up for Thanksgiving?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“So, what did she say?”
“She said she’d think about it.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not on the team anymore. So it’s not like we’re the football jock and the cheerleader.”
“I see.” Josh felt terrible for his son. “Let’s hit the pasta aisle. That seems like something which should last.”
“We’ll stick with the varieties in the smaller boxes,” said Josh. They stocked the cart with linguini, spaghetti, and angel hair, then found canned sauce to accompany the pasta.
“What about toilet paper, soap, shampoo, all that kind of stuff?” asked Micah.
“We’ll need that also, but I think food will be the first thing to start disappearing from the shelves. Hopefully, we’ll still have a little time on hygiene items.” The carts were soon filled to capacity. Josh led the way to the long line where they waited for a self-checkout station to open up.
“I’m sorry—about Kendra, I mean.”
“That’s okay. It’s not your fault. If I’d known how shallow the basis for our relationship was, I probably never would have gotten so invested. I guess it’s better to know now.”
Josh put his arm around his son. “Yeah, but it still hurts.”
Micah swallowed hard and turned his head away from Josh. “Yeah. It still hurts.”
CHAPTER 7
A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself: but the simple pass on, and are punished.
Proverbs 22:3
Josh scanned item after item while Micah bagged them up. His phone rang. Josh looked at the screen. “It’s the realtor in Tampa. I have to take this.”
“Sure.” Micah took over scanning so Josh could talk.
“Mary Beth, hey. Any action on the house?”
“Lots! My phone won’t stop ringing. But when I tell prospective buyers that you’re only open to cash, that weeds out most of them. I did get two offers a little while ago. I got one after lunch but knew the other was coming in, so I figured I’d wait and present them both to you at once.”
“Did both of them submit proof of funds with their offers?”
“Yes, I told them you wouldn’t even look at offers without it.”
“Both are over your asking price. One is for $345,000 and the other is for $330,000.”
“Who can close first?”
“The guy offering $330,000 says he’d close tomorrow if he could. The problem is title. You have a mortgage that has to be cleared. Kim at America First Title is the best there is. She says she can close by next Friday if we get all the paperwork to her by lunchtime tomorrow.”
“So that’s what, nine days?”
“Yeah, about.”
“When can the other buyer close?”
“The following Monday. I think they’re both investors. So, essentially, you’d get another $15,000 if you can wait one more weekend.”
“Nope. Give it to the guy for $330,000.”
“What do I tell Kim? Are you coming back to town for closing?”
“Nine days, she should be able to put together a mail-away for me in that amount of time.”
“Sure. I’ll let her know. I’ll email you the contract.”
“Thanks, Mary Beth. I appreciate your hard work.”
“I’m happy to do it. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Josh hung up and resumed helping Micah with the checkout.
“So that’s it? We sold the house?”
“We got a contract. A lot can happen in nine days.” Josh slid Stephanie’s credit card and took the receipt. The two of them pushed the over-burdened carts to the car and began stuffing their haul into the trunk and back seat of the Charger.
“Are we going to get gas on the way back to the hotel?”
“No. I’m going to get up early and get gas before people start going to work. For one thing, I don’t have the energy left to deal with it. For the other, we don’t have a good place to store it overnight without it stinking up the place.”
“What are we going to eat for dinner?”
“I’m going to let your mother choose. It might be the last time we get to eat out for a while.”
Once back at the hotel, the guys loaded the luggage cart to haul the supplies up to the room. Josh hoped to make one more run to the grocery store on the following morning.
“More stuff.” Stephanie held the door open for Josh and Micah.
“Dad said we can go out to eat tonight.” Micah dutifully stacked the groceries along the wall next to the television.
“Where is there to go?” she asked.
Josh helped Micah unload the cart. “I saw a little farm-to-table restaurant downtown. Get ready and we’ll go. Try to hurry. I’m beat. I want to get to bed early tonight.”
“Okay. All my stuff is down the hall in 312. We can sleep there tonight.”
Micah held up his machete. “I’ll sleep here and guard the supplies from the zombies.”
“Are you sure? This place is a mess,” Josh said.
“Have you ever been in my room?” Micah asked. “This place is neat by comparison.”
“Point taken.” Josh clapped his hands. “Come on. Everybody move it. This might be the last time we ever go to a restaurant.”
“Are you serious?” Stephanie asked.
Josh cracked a smile. “No. At least I hope not. Things will get back to normal eventually, but it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
***
Later that evening, the Stone family returned from dinner. They’d enjoyed each other’s company so much that Josh almost forgot about the troubles ahead.
Stephanie hugged Micah in the hallway before they parted ways for bed. “No sneaking out.”
“I won’t,” he said.
“I mean it, Micah. Normally, that would sort of be a victimless crime. But things are tense. You can feel it.” She held his hand and would not let him go. “The restaurant was practically empty and people just look anxious. Go straight to your room, lock the door and don’t come out until morning.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“Call us if you need us,” said Josh.
“I will. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Son. I love you,” Josh replied.
“I love you, too, Dad. You, too, Mom.”
“I love you, Micah.” Stephanie stood in the hallway until Micah had closed the door of his room.
“He’ll do the right thing.” Josh pulled his wife toward their hotel room.
“You should call your sister. She should be done with classes by now.”
“And tell her what?”
“Tell her to turn on the news. Tell her to try going to Publix for bread and milk.”
“She doesn’t eat bread, and she doesn’t drink milk.”
“Okay, almond milk, whatever. She just needs to see some bare shelves to help her realize this is getting serious.”
“I’ll try.” Josh walked in the room, pulled his in-the-waistband holster off and placed the pistol on his side of the bed. He kicked off his shoes, placed his key and wallet on the desk, and flipped on the television before placing the call. “Hey, Sis.”
“Hey, Josh. Did Stephanie tell you? Some guy offered to buy the juice bar.”
“Yeah, she’s taking the offer.” Josh positioned the pillows against the headboard so he could sit upright on the bed.
“She’s nuts for selling so cheap.”
“Maybe not. Have you been out and about today?”
“What am I, a shut-in? I’m out and about every day.�
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“I mean, have you been to the grocery, or have you bought gas?”
“I stopped by Whole Foods early this morning. It was busy but nothing out of the ordinary. I saw some lines at the gas stations, but not like just before a hurricane. I hope this isn’t what you moved out of town for.”
“This is only the beginning,” he said. “Emilio is coming up tomorrow morning. You should come with him. Stay for a week. If nothing happens, you can go back.”
“Ride up with Emilio. Are you serious?”
“What’s wrong with Emilio?”
“He looks like he walked straight off the cover of a Spanish romance novel.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Ahhh! Are you kidding! He probably expects girls to ask him for his autograph. He’s probably used to having them just faint dead when he even talks to them. Well, that’s not me.”
“You’ve got him all wrong. Besides, I’m not trying to play matchmaker here, I’m simply suggesting that you ride up with him. I’m afraid things are going to get hectic, and you’ll be forced to drive by yourself.”
“I’m a big girl. I’ve even got a gun, remember? I think I can handle a twelve-hour road trip.”
“Not if there’s no fuel in the pumps, you can’t. Do me a favor. If you’re not going to listen to my plea now, at least find some gas cans, fill up your tank, and make sure you have enough fuel to get here when you change your mind.”
“You mean if I change my mind.”
“No, I mean when.”
She was silent for a while. “Okay. I’ll go by Home Depot before they close.”
“And fill them up with gas before you go home.”
“I will. Goodnight.”
“I’ll talk to you soon.” Josh hung up the phone and plugged in the charger.
“No luck?” Stephanie asked.
“You know how she is.” Josh turned up the TV just a little and got undressed for bed. He watched the continuing coverage of what was being labeled by the media as the global currency meltdown.
***
Josh’s alarm went off at 5:00 AM on Wednesday morning. He wasted no time getting out of bed and getting dressed. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, tucked his pistol in his waist, pulled his new ball cap on his head and went to the lobby. Josh was out the door before the hotel breakfast opened, so he’d have to wait for coffee until he arrived at the filling station.
The first set of pumps he saw had no line. Josh pulled in feeling lucky. He drove up to the pump. “No gas!” He frowned and continued his search.
The next stop was a Marathon. He watched the tanker pull away, so he was certain they’d have fuel. “Eight dollars a gallon! That’s probably going to sound cheap a week from now.” The line was minimal. Only three other people were ahead of him. He wanted to run inside and grab a cup of coffee while he waited but decided against it.
The line lasted about twelve minutes. Josh topped off the tank, then began filling the cans which he’d left in the trunk the night before. Once they were full, Josh pulled to the side to retrieve the hot morning beverage he was so accustomed to.
From there, he returned to Walmart for another load. The shelves were sparse. They’d not been restocked from the day before. Josh managed to fill a cart of things that his family could eat. It was still dark outside when he left. He took his purchases back to the car and loaded them into the back seat. He made one more stop at Kroger for another load, then headed back to the hotel where breakfast was finally available. He poured himself another cup of coffee, got a bowl of cereal, and watched the morning news. The day would be a blur of getting keys, moving supplies, and contacting utility companies.
The male World News Network commentator had makeup covering the circles under his eyes, but they were still puffy. He looked tired, as if worry over the world situation had kept him up all night. “Early morning trading in Asia and Europe is offering little hope for global currencies as they continue to plummet in lockstep with one another against oil and other commodities. Wall Street won’t open for another hour and a half, yet the Dow Futures index is down over 1,200 points. Any vestige of hope that central planners will be able to intervene against the ongoing crisis seems to have vanished.
“Adding insult to injury, West Texas Intermediate Crude is trading above $200 per barrel sending prices at the pump soaring. Analysts predict another heavy day for banks and grocers as nervous consumers seek shelter from fast-rising prices and the accompanying turmoil associated with a currency which is losing value by the hour.”
Josh took out his phone. “Once again, not a word about gold or silver.” He checked the prices. “Gold is $3,675 and silver is $82! Wow! I should have bought more.” He considered the purchases he’d made instead of additional precious metals. “But I guess you can’t eat it, live in it, or defend your family with it.”
Josh finished his breakfast then went upstairs for a shower. When he came out, Stephanie was packing her things. He said, “We’re going to keep this room. At least for one more night. I’d like to get the house cleaned, painted, and furnished before we move in.”
“That could take weeks,” she replied.
“Let’s focus on getting our bedroom, Micah’s bedroom, and the kitchen livable. We can worry about everything else later. With all three of us working, we can have those three rooms done by Friday.”
“And a bathroom,” she added. “I won’t feel human if I have to shower in a cesspool.”
“And a bathroom,” he agreed.
Josh called Brooke at 9:00 AM sharp.
Her voice sounded gravelly. “Hello?”
“Hey, Brooke. Are you feeling okay? You sound like you might have a cold.”
“Rough night.”
“Well, listen. I just checked with my bank and the wire went through. Can you confirm it on your end? I need those keys right away.”
“I left them with Megan at the front desk. She’ll be expecting you. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”
“Yeah well, hopefully, I won’t need to bother you anymore.” Josh clicked off the call. “Steph. I’m going to get the keys. Be ready in about half an hour. We’ve got a big day ahead.”
“I will,” she replied.
The rest of the day flew by. Josh and Micah unloaded all their personal belongings and supplies into the garage while Stephanie worked feverishly to clean their new abode of every speck of dust and every cobweb. Josh and Micah used the empty moving van to relocate the additional supplies from the hotel to the new home. Josh picked up sandwiches from a local deli for lunch and the team ate on the fly. After lunch, he and Stephanie made a run for paint and supplies. The three of them managed to paint two bedrooms and a bathroom by 10:00 PM Wednesday night.
Josh surveyed the progress they’d made. “Let’s call it a day. We should head back to the hotel and get some rest. I have to drive into Louisville in the morning to meet the new boss. Steph, you and Micah can use the moving van to get furniture tomorrow. Here’s two thousand dollars. With the banks running out of cash, people are desperate for currency. I’d imagine you can get some good deals from Craigslist and Letgo.”
Josh put one arm around his son and the other around his wife. “I know this hasn’t been easy, walking away from everything and everyone you knew.” He pulled them close. “We’re coming together as a family. We can get through this thing, no matter how hard it gets. I’m proud of you both.”
CHAPTER 8
The most foolish mistake we could possibly make would be to allow the subject races to possess arms. History shows that all conquerors who have allowed their subject races to carry arms have prepared their own downfall by so doing.
Adolph Hitler
Josh adjusted his tie in the waiting room of the Louisville FBI Field office Thursday morning. The office was sterile with white walls, gray floors, and few decorative items on the wall.
“Mrs. Harris will see you now,” said the receptionist. “Straight back and her office
is the third door on the right.”
“Thank you.” Josh stood from his seat and walked through the double doors indicated by the receptionist. He reached the third door and looked inside. “Mrs. Harris?”
A tall blonde woman with short hair stood up from behind her desk. In her early fifties, the SAC was slender above the waist with wide hips. She wore a tight jacket and long flowing pants which flared at the bottom. Her poor choice of clothing accentuated her disproportioned body. Josh thought she looked like an art critic who had somehow ended up in the wrong office.
Her smile was insincere, and she offered her hand to Josh. “You must be Agent Stone.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, come in. Sit down.” She returned to her desk. “You’ll have to forgive me. They waited to fill me in on what’s happening until last night. We had an encrypted teleconference that ran until eleven. As you can imagine, I had trouble falling asleep after that. I tossed and turned until 3:00 AM when I finally took an Ambien. It was all rather unceremonious, the way they told us. I understand the people from DHS were flown to DC and read in at a formal meeting last Friday.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Josh watched the woman who seemed slightly disheveled as she clicked around on her computer and rearranged papers on her desk. He figured at least some of her lack of organization might be attributed to the bombshell which had been dropped on her less than twelve hours prior.
“I suppose none of that will matter in a month.” She seemed to find the folder she’d been looking for amongst the disarray on her desk. “Ah, here it is.” She read silently for a moment. “It says you were wounded in the line of duty?”
“Yes, ma’am. I took a bullet in the knee when I was with Tampa PD. But I underwent extensive reconstruction surgery, physical therapy, and I’ve been cleared for regular duty.”
“You charged into a room where a captor was holding a hostage. The report says you shot and killed the captor, but not before he managed to shoot you in the knee.” She looked up from the file. “Don’t you have SWAT and hostage negotiators in Tampa?”