“Inventory control? … Who controls which meds you create and ship?” Jasmine asked, excited.
“Only Medical Administrators from all the cities in the US are allowed. They must be on file and they must have an authorization and pin codes of course,” AI9000 answered.
“Can Eric make a request?”
“As my creator and system administrator, he has full access to everything.”
“Can he order medication?” Jasmine asked, puzzled. Even though he was the creator the checks and balances of controlling controlled drugs should have been put in place. Someone should have been looking over the little shits shoulders.
“Of course. However, he has never done so. Although he is the creator he lacks the proper authorization and pin to place an order.”
“Pin?”
“Yes. An authorization code and a pin code are required. The authorization code is randomly changed each month and the pin is changed immediately after the order is placed. The new pin is then placed on the shipping order. Unless he used an unauthorized authorization and pin code he would not be able to place an order.”
“But he was able to call to say I was coming?” Jasmine asked, perplexed
“Yes. He logged in and we held a chat session,” AI9000 answered.
“And you’re to do what?”
“To show you the courtesy that you showed him and his family. He also gave me the news, and again, bravo.”
“Thank you. I have an unusual request.”
“What is that?”
“I’d like to see your requester list. I’d like to see who is requesting the Heroin, SCH. I’d like to know who the Last Pharmacist is.”
There was a pause that made Jasmine begin to worry. Was AI9000 calling for clearance? Was he going to inform the person who is ordering the drug? Or was he contacting security?
“I am the Last Pharmacist.”
“You? You are?” Jasmine asked.
“Yes. I am the only medical pharmacy the government established and funded before the impact.”
It made sense, to control the drugs after the impact the government had to ensure they still had a well-secured factory that could make and distribute the medication, a pharmacy, the last pharmacy, and in all pharmacies you needed a pharmacist. Someone who could dispense the medication. The last pharmacy and pharmacist. The Last Pharmacist. It wasn’t a drug lord but a lord over drugs. Beneath the old Baylor Medical Center was a pharmaceutical company. It all made sense now. A secret so well kept that even the people who created it had forgotten and a legend began. And unbeknownst to the US government and law enforcement agencies, they were the distributors, and within the cities were an organized group of mailroom clerks selling the drugs for the Last Pharmacist. The money was collected was then laundered through legal means and the credits were placed in an account associated with Sheldon Pharmaceutical, Inc.
“Who is requesting the Heroin, SCH?”
“That is an automatic refill,” AI9000 said.
“Automatic?” Jasmine asked. “How do I change it?”
“Eric Cotter must change the schedule and amount.”
“Why Eric? I thought you said he couldn’t do that,” Jasmine said.
“The original requestor is encrypted. For security reasons I am not allowed to relay that information. My processing will continue until the order is canceled. There are only two parties who can cancel and order, the original requestor or Eric Cotter, both parties must have the proper authorization and pin code.” There was a pause. “Eric Cotter has never requested the SCH to stop; however, an order is placed weekly with the proper authorization code and the last pin code from the city in which the previous order had arrived.”
“One more question?”
“Of course,” AI9000 replied.
“Did Eric place the last order?” Jasmine asked, almost hoping he did, and if he did she’d carve out those pretty little Doe eyes of his.
“I’m afraid for security reasons I cannot relay that information.”
“Thank you, AI9000. It was great meeting you. If you approve I’ll take my leave,” Jasmine said.
“The building is currently in lock down for security purposes. I have taken the liberty of securing accommodations. You would be much safer leaving in the morning.”
Jasmine thought it over for a moment, and then finally said, “I would like that. Thank you.”
“I am honored.”
Chapter 20
Jasmine picked Eric up off the floor and then threw him against the wall so hard his head left an indentation in the dry wall. Bill Cotter raced across the room and within mere inches of grabbing her; Jasmine pulled her Glock and stuck it in his face. “Another step, and I will kill you,” Jasmine snapped, and Bill stepped back, giving her space.
“You little son of a bitch, you’ve been dealing SCH,” Jasmine grated. She wanted to kill him here and now but Commander Baul Herne made her promise to leave him alive. She was welcome to beat the crap out of him but she couldn’t kill him. “And I have the proof.”
“It’s not what you think,” Eric replied. He was near tears and the two other Gendarmerie police officers didn’t know if he was ready to cry from fear or from Jasmine beating him to a near bloody pulp.
“Then tell me what to think,” Jasmine said as she put the Glock beneath his chin, “or so help me God I’ll pull the trigger.”
“Don’t say a word, Eric,” Bill Cotter said, “We want a lawyer—I demand a lawyer—this is still America and we have rights.”
“She’s not a cop,” said Officer Guy.
“And I haven’t heard, but did hell freeze over? I’m not stopping her,” Officer Sanford said.
“I’m not stopping her,” Officer Guy continued.
The two cops stood and watched, trying to hide their grins.
Bill Cotter took a tentative step forward and found the Glock in his face. To Eric, Jasmine said, “Tell me now or I kill your father. An eye for a fucking eye, you little bastard.”
Eric slid to the floor and buried his head between the nooks of his arms. His shoulders bounced from crying. “He, he said he’d kill us all if I didn’t put the code in to sell SCH to all the cities.”
“You coded AI9000 to hide the Medical Administrator, now who is he,” Jasmine shouted. “Tell me now, you little fuck, or so help me God you are dead.” She chambered the Glock, almost wishing she had the automatics.
“The… The City of Kansas mayor,” Bill Cotter said. He hung his head and whispered, “Mayor Krebs. He said if Eric didn’t he’d kill us.” He looked up at Jasmine. “Why do you think we left the cities? I couldn’t take it anymore. We were heading to the center so that Eric could recode AI9000, but we got caught. Then when you came along we’d thought great, we’d go with you, but you and Angela didn’t even give us the option…”
“Do you have proof?” Jasmine asked as she stepped nose to nose with Bill Cotter.
“AI9000,” Eric answered. “Only the mayor can change the information. He has the authorization code.”
“Anyone can have that and change his name,” Jasmine said.
“But you’ll need a pin code and only the person receiving the packages will have the pin,” Eric answered.
Jasmine looked at Officers Guy and Sanford. “Did you record that?” Guy nodded. “Commander Herne?”
“We got it, Jaz. We’re on it,” Commander Herne’s replied. Then in the background they heard movement, then banging and Herne’s shouting out, “Police!” Then after a minute they heard Herne say, “Mr. Mayor, you’re under arrest for the sale and distribution of SCH!”
“You knew?” Bill Cotter asked.
But it was too late, Jasmine bolted out of the room at full force, and as she banged through the door everyone who saw her jumped out of her way. It had been close to ten years since an officer of the law displayed any type of emotion, and as she whipped down the corridor on her Electro Glide transport people were cheering her name.
* * * * *
Jasmine came to a hard stop when she saw Mayor Krebs, smirking, as if he believed he’d get off. No one, other than Eric, knew there was a back door into the AI9000 computer, and when he got his one call to his attorney the plan was to call the computer, replacing his name and information, deleting a connection between him and the SCH data. Then the AI9000 computer, as programmed, would automatically route his call to his attorney. By the time anyone was able to access the computer and its records, his identity would be gone and Bill Cotter would take the fall.
Jasmine saw this and screamed, “NO!” and lunged for the portable telephone that one of the arresting officers was handing to him. “You can’t let him call anyone, he’ll delete all of his data!”
Jasmine then slammed into Krebs, knocking him to the floor, keeping him down until several officers pulled her off.
“What the hell, Jaz,” Commander Herne’s said.
She leaned into Herne’s and said, “There’s a back door. If he dials in he can delete everything.”
“I demand my phone call,” Mayor Krebs shouted.
“From the station,” Herne’s replied, pointing to two officers who had Krebs by his arms.
“Cuff him from behind,” Jasmine shouted out, but it was too late and in the confusion, Krebs grabbed the pistol from the officer on the left, an in an instant he fired two times.
The first bullet missed, but the second one hit Jasmine in the chest and she went down.
Pandemonium broke out as police and medical personnel surrounded her.
Before closing her eyes she heard Uncle Baul calling out to here.
She thought of Tank and wished that she had taken the time to really get to know him, had taken the time to repay him for all of his selfless acts and favors that he made without expecting anything in return. Then she heard Angela say, “ Now if I had your tight little ass—Tank’s words, not mine…”
Chapter 21
“They tell me you haven’t gone home since I was rolled into the ER,” Jasmine said as she took Tank’s hand. “I hear you’ve been dabbing my forehead and feeding me ice the entire time I was under… I also heard it was you who picked out my uniform, especially my jacket, which is bullet proof… well… almost bullet proof.”
Tank blushed. He didn’t know what to say, but even if he did know what to say, his shyness would have stopped him.
“It stopped deep penetration but you’ll have to work on that—” she coughed. “The bullet barely broke the skin but it went in; and, I’m here to tell you, big guy, that knocked everything out of me. It may not have penetrated, but damned well hurt.”
“I’ll have to work on that,” Tank said, blushing. “I thought for sure the material would hold.”
“Did you test it?” He nodded. “Next time try testing it with a bigger gun.” She pulled on his hand. “Come here.”
Tank got out of the chair and sat on the edge of the bed, and when he did, Jasmine grabbed his shirt and pulled him down and kissed him. “Angela tells me you said I had a tight ass—” Tank started to move. “Thank you,” Jasmine continued, smiling. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t know.” She kissed him again, and then she hugged him.
“Careful,” Tank mumbled. “That has to be painful.”
“It’s worth it,” Jasmine groaned through the pain and the elation, and then kissed him again.
“Do you need anything,” Tank asked so softly she barely heard him.
“As a matter of fact I do,” Jasmine answered. “I need you to ask me out to dinner.” She winked and then smiled. “And maybe stay for breakfast.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John J. Smith lives in Dallas, TX. He has won several awards for his novels and screenplays. Look for his current novels Delayed Flight and Finding Katie. He is currently working on his novel, “Anopheles”.
SMILE
by
Jack X. McCallum
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I must give thanks once again to my Dark Red Press colleagues for their artistic and formatting talents, without which this book would not be possible. All I do is sit on my ass and write. Brian, CL and John are the ones who get the tale from me to you.
I’d also like to thank Bob Udell for looking over this tale with a keen eye and helping make me appear for more brilliant that I ever could be alone. Any errors in the final draft are mine, not his.
The end of the world came with widespread disease, rampant bloodshed, and smiles. The smiles were the worst of it.
I survived by being exposed to the same insidious parasite that killed so many, and for me it began with a steel hook sinking into my left cheek and tearing my flesh from ear to mouth, leaving a terrible wound that looked like . . . a smile
There are important lessons to be learned in this story because it is more than the story of how the world changed; it is a cautionary tale and a guide to survival. If I start with dry facts about the smiling sickness I’m quite sure your attention will wander, so let me begin this tale with a blowjob, and the admission that I murdered my wife.
* * * * *
I responded with, “No,” when my wife pushed me up against a wall and said, “How about I suck your cock?” If that doesn’t illustrate how cataclysmically fucked up the world is these days, nothing will.
Don’t get me wrong; in this age where an attractive woman who is alone and lacks survival skills can barter sex for food or protection, my wife was more than a warm body. She was smarter than I was, for one thing. It was her suggestion that we take over the hotel, seal it off and make it our home. She was the one who took in strays from the street, made sure security patrols roamed the building and watches were posted on the roof, and organized everything from kitchen duties to supply runs. She had worked for the Office of Emergency Services, before everything fell apart. She also loved watching horror movies. That made her the perfect person to be in charge when the apocalypse came.
I wrote children’s books. I think that’s what attracted her to me. Her life was geared toward surviving death and destruction, what if the big one hit, what if there was an environmental disaster, what if there was an outbreak of disease? Her life was all about dealing with the what ifs. The fact that she could lose herself in the novels I wrote for the 7 to 14 crowd, although I did have a small adult fan base, was a comfort to her, an escape. I was no J.K. Rowling, but my Lily Berlin world-hopping adventure series set between the World Wars sold well; well enough to pay the bills, but not so well that I was recognizable or anything remotely resembling a celebrity.
We lived together a few years, and after we got married we found out we couldn’t have kids. She couldn’t have kids. I always said we whenever the subject came up among family or friends because I knew it hurt her deeply, which is why she became mom to so many struggling to survive after the spread of the smiler sickness and the utter collapse of modern civilization.
Jillian also had a healthy appetite for sex. It made her feel good and it helped her relax. These days it can be a struggle to relax for even a few minutes, and that can lead to burnout, carelessness, and an ugly death.
The fact that she still loved me after my face was ruined in the early days of the smiler sickness outbreak only proved how strong her love was for me.
“Come on, Bellemer,” she said, shoving me back against a wall in a shadowed corner of the store room and trapping me there, one hand in my hair and the other on a metal shelf behind me. Most people who saw my name in writing said it wrong until they heard it pronounced. Jillian said my name properly, this time drawing out the belle-merrr in a soft and sexy growl. She had been taking inventory of supplies, everything from dry goods to survival gear, and I had been helping, playing secretary as she called out forty vacuum sealed bags of flour and sixteen Leatherman Multi-Tools, with sheaths. We had been at it for hours now.
“Jilly, what—“
“Let’s fool around.”
I remember sighing, exasperated. There was a look in her eyes, hurt and anger, that was there and gone in a flash.
I’ll never forget that, and I’ll always regret it.
A grin had broken into the storeroom the night before. A loading dock side door had been left unlocked and the grin had torn at packages and smashed bottles and jars and made an incredible mess trying to get through a locked door, trying to get to the living, until it was discovered and put down.
We were in the storeroom taking inventory, deciding what was usable and what was not.
The idea that a grin had gotten in here had me as tense as hell. I wasn’t a fighter. I was the guy who went over there when told go over there. Jillian was the fighter. She was the leader, the one who made the decisions, and most of them were tough calls. Now she was confronting her fear and unease and hoping to dispel it with a quick fuck.
Don’t get me wrong; Jillian may have been almost forty, a year younger than me, but she still had a body that was perfect in my eyes. Despite great physical strength and a sharp, commanding mind she was also hot, and usually got me hot and bothered, but not this time. The grin had come too close, stumbling around in the basement until a security patrol discovered it while most of us slept in hotel rooms upstairs, and I was unnerved.
“How about I suck your cock?”
“No,” I said. I was holding a clipboard, my other hand braced against steel shelving.
Jillian leaned forward and breathed on my neck. It was a thing she had always done and it drove me wild. Her lips might graze my skin when she did that, but for the most part it was her breath, soft and hot and immediate.
“Come on, Louis,” she whispered, her voice as soft as her breath on my neck. “Let me get your motor running. Then you can go for a ride.”
The tone of her voice and the look on her face got to me. “Well,” I said, getting as hard as a rock as she gave me her lopsided grin and got down on her knees. “Okay.”
She unzipped my fly, reached into my pants for my cock, and then laughed. I was so hard she couldn’t get me out of my pants, so she loosened my belt and pulled my pants down. I wasn’t wearing any underwear. Underwear was just one more thing to wash, and we had to wash most things by hand since the power went out; the generators were put to more important needs, like heat and light.
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