by Ben Stevens
Parker knew the husband by sight and at any other time they would have nodded heads at one another, maybe exchanged a spoken greeting if they were close enough. But today the man ignored Parker, totally absorbed in his desire to get away from here – from the fast-approaching virus – and so save his family and himself.
The only problem, considered Parker as he kept walking, was that the virus was to be found pretty much in all directions. Also, the highways leading out of these small towns and cities were starting to get awfully clogged with traffic. And then some of the drivers stuck in these jams began to cough, and feel generally unwell...
Parker silently wished the man and his family luck, while feeling a stone-cold certainty that they wouldn’t get far before tragedy struck. He thought of those hogs, what they might do to this small family if they got a hold of them, and he swallowed thickly.
Then he hurried on, remembering Carrie. She was the person Parker had to protect, in whatever way proved necessary. And if in doing so he had to kill someone, some-thing...
Or themselves.
Yes, for what were the chances that either Carrie or he – let alone the pair of them – would prove to be the ‘one in five to ten thousand’ who were somehow resistant to this virus, this plague?
Pointless to indulge himself with foolish notions of escape, or of somehow surviving this hell engulfing the whole of the Earth. Let alone with the woman he loved...
No, Parker was on his way to try and get a gun in the near-certainty that Carrie and he would be using it on themselves sometime real soon. Then again, would Carrie wish to commit suicide, even if she felt herself starting to sicken? Would she in fact request that Parker shoot her first, before himself – and could Parker do that...?
...The bell of the door rang as Parker walked into the gun shop. Some distant part of his mind (the part that wasn’t focusing on the possibility that he’d be killing his wife and himself sometime soon) grateful that this shop was even open. For he’d passed others, he realized now, that had been closed up on what was ostensibly a normal weekday.
‘John,’ greeted the owner, a man slowly going to fat. He was wearing a checked shirt, and a cowboy hat. Thought Parker vaguely: No real surprises here.
‘Hank,’ returned Parker.
‘Something of a surprise seeing you in here,’ declared the owner. ‘Then again, business has been real fast of late – had a lot of new customers I ain’t never seen before.’
Parker nodded as he looked at the near-empty shelves and racks. He was suddenly worried that he’d left it too late to get himself a firearm. Besides, what were the formalities and such you had to go through? He’d no idea; had never even held a gun in his hands before.
‘Yes sir,’ continued Hank, staring keenly at the school janitor. ‘I’ve made more money these past couple of weeks – since we got this dirty virus right in our own country – than I made the past year. Just a damn shame it doesn’t look likely I’m ever gonna get the chance to spend it, ain’t it?’
‘Here to give you a bit more cash, anyhow,’ declared Parker with a shrug. ‘That is, if you got anything left to sell me.’
Hank gave a slight smile, and brought up from below the counter a small handgun.
‘You ain’t never fired a gun before, have ya?’ he demanded.
Parker shook his head.
‘Never really felt the need,’ he replied.
‘Well, this is ya best bet, this pistol right here. Just slot the bullets in the chamber, point it at something, stare along the sight and pull the trigger and that’s about it.
‘‘Course, you gotta give it a little oil and such now and then. Instruction manual comes with it explains how to break the thing apart and put it back together again. Helps if you learn how, if – ’
Hank’s voice suddenly failed him. For a moment, Parker thought that the gun store owner might break down in tears.
‘Hank?’ said Parker quietly.
Hank shook his head and wiped his eyes.
‘I’m talking about time and we ain’t got none,’ he declared in a low voice. And then Parker’s blood froze as he suddenly emitted a harsh cough.
‘Hank...’ breathed Parker, taking an involuntarily step backwards. The gun shop owner again shook his head, and then reaching under the counter began piling a number of small cardboard boxes beside the handgun.
‘Here,’ said Hank, coughing again. ‘Here – here’s some ammo for this thing. Here’s the manual. Take the lot and go hole up in that house of yours. Maybe you’ll be lucky; maybe if you ain’t coughing or starting to feel sick yet then you’ll be one of those few who are resistant to this fucking thing – ‘cause I now know I sure ain’t.’
‘What do I owe y –’
‘What hell use is money to me, boy?’ yelled Hank, his eyes now appearing a little red – slightly feverish. ‘You got a woman, ain’t ya? Just take this gun, bullets and get the hell back to her!’
‘Hank, thank you,’ said Parker quietly, stuffing the gun and the boxes of bullets into the pockets of his light jacket. There wasn’t space enough for all the cardboard boxes, however. Some Parker would have to carry in his hands.
‘I’m closing up, now,’ said Hank, moving out from behind the counter to follow Parker towards the door. ‘Lock the door, pull down the blinds, go down into the cellar and wait and see what happens. I’d got that cellar pretty well stocked up – I mean with food, ammo and such – but none of that ain’t gonna do me the least bit of good now.’
Parker exited into the street. He heard the key click in the lock behind him. Then the blinds came down behind windows already protected by a strong steel mesh.
No one was on the street. The car Parker had seen being loaded up by the sweating father and his family then drove past him. The man driving was shouting something, saliva spraying from his lips. The woman sat beside him had her face in her hands, and looked to be crying.
None of your concern Parker told himself sternly. He increased his pace back to the small private school and his house. Carrie worked a couple of days a week in the school kitchen; she’d be finishing up soon, right about the time Parker was due to put away the dining tables and benches.
But she was already in their home when Parker opened the front door and walked in. She was sat watching the news on the television in the living room. She was crying, quietly.
‘It’s over, John,’ she told him, her big blue eyes shiny with tears.
On the television, a reporter was shouting something into the camera, at the same time as a group of exhausted-looking soldiers emptied their machineguns into a mass of things with little visible effect.
Even the soldiers, thought Parker abstractly, seemed unaware that the only way of ensuring that a thing stayed dead was to shoot it in the head. Otherwise they were just wasting their ammo firing too low; they –
Parker caught himself, and almost gave a grim grin.
Hell, he thought, you get a small handgun and now what? You think you’re Special Forces or something?
‘Children are leaving the school now, John. Being picked up by their parents as everyone tries to escape. But some of these children were already coughing. You may as well just lock up the school and come back here.’
Parker nodded, and then walked out of the living room, across the narrow hallway and into the kitchen. He opened the cupboard below the sink, pulled out a number of pans, and began filling them with water.
After a minute or so, he became aware that Carrie was stood behind him.
‘What are you doing, John?’
‘You feel sick?’
‘What?’
Parker spun round to face her. She stared, confused and perhaps a little frightened at his tight expression.
‘I said – do you feel sick? Have you started coughing?’
‘Well, no. I... Physically, at least, I feel well.’
‘Me too,’ said Parker firmly. ‘And we’ve both been round people who seem to already have been infected. Maybe it’s just not
our turn, yet – we’ll see. I got a gun – see?’
He pulled the weapon out of his pocket.
‘John...’ Carrie breathed.
‘Whatever happens, Carrie, we won’t suffer,’ returned Parker, his voice a little gentler than before. ‘But until we know... otherwise, we’ll just assume that we’ve got to carry right on living, whatever happens in the world outside. And the most essential thing right now is to ensure that we’ve got enough water. So I’d better start filling the bath up, too.’
There was a moment’s pause; then Carrie said –
‘I’ll do that.’
Parker almost gave his second grim grin of the day. That was his wife, all right. Strong – tough in her own way. Couldn’t ask for anyone better to try this survival gig with.
But were they really both immune to the virus? Really – what were the chances?
Parker walked over to the school. Everyone had left except for the principal. He was standing in the reception area, doubled-over with a coughing fit.
‘You should go home, sir,’ said Parker softly, ensuring that he stood a little distance away from the gray-haired man who was wearing a bow-tie, but also aware that this really didn’t make any difference. If he was going to get the virus, he was going to get the virus. All ‘precautions’ against contracting it were useless; the world had been shown that already.
‘You still feel all right... John?’ asked the principal, looking at Parker with red-flecked eyes. It seemed to Parker that the principal was slurring his words slightly, as though he’d been drinking. Yet everyone knew that the principal was a strict teetotaller.
‘As of this moment, yes, sir,’ returned Parker.
The principal nodded, and made for the main entrance into the school. There was a small car-park outside, to be used by staff and visitors. Only one car was still parked in it.
‘I leave the school to you then, John,’ said the principal, not looking back as he opened the door. ‘It’s all over with me.’
The door shut and Parker was left in the empty school. Mechanically he entered the classrooms, closing the windows and locking doors behind him. He even put away the tables and benches in the hall, just as though he’d be putting them back out just before lunch-break tomorrow.
Then he returned to his home. Carrie still did not feel ill. Neither did he. Parker felt a tiny flame of hope in his heart and determinedly nursed it.
They watched television for a while but every channel was showing the end of the world as mankind knew it. Parker thought of the things, and the hogs. If it looked like Carrie and he were going to survive the plague, at least, maybe he’d better start boarding up his windows and doors soonest.
But then – they needed to get a lot more food in...
By the time they decided to go to bed, they still didn’t feel sick. Damn, but it looked like they were both survivors.
And then early in the morning, while it was still dark, there came a dull, monotonous knocking at their front door –
Thump... thump... thump...
‘John...’ said Carrie, her voice quiet and fearful in the dark.
‘You stay here,’ returned Parker, picking up the gun he’d placed on the bedside table and shucking on his jeans. ‘I’ll just go see who this is...’
...The security guard (or whatever he was) named George had set up his living quarters a good way inside the abandoned factory. Windows along the seemingly endless corridors protected by metal cages placed outside.
‘They put ‘em there so that kids couldn’t throw stones from outside and break ‘em,’ George explained, during the walk to this area he’d set up as his own. ‘Even though they had this whole place scheduled for demolition. But still they paid me to be here, every night, just to walk around, flash my torch some and generally dissuade any youngsters from trying to break in...’
Parker nodded his head, but didn’t really take in any of this information he was now being told. In the past twelve hours he’d been attacked by rats and then almost killed by hogs, and now – what? This blue-uniformed, kindly-looking man with an almost disfiguring mole on one side of his nose was about to cook him steak and eggs?
Parker searched for a reason as to why this man named George had summoned him from outside using a loudspeaker. Just to have someone to chat to and share a steak dinner?
Parker’s suspicious mind couldn’t, wouldn’t except that – and yet he could see no other reason why George would have stood on the other side of a chainmail fence from a mass of things and beckoned for him, Parker, to come round the back of this disused factory, where he could be let in...
In any case, George seemed to have things pretty well sorted here. It was hardly as though he needed anything from Parker, who carried his sole possessions in the rucksack worn on his back and whose trousers were well torn and bloodstained from his recent foray into a rat-infested basement...
George opened (and then locked behind him) a series of solid metal doors during their journey, along any number of stretching corridors. Parker noted that they all seemed to require the same key to open them, a bunch of keys hanging – in true janitor fashion – from one of George’s belt loops.
There were also dim lights periodically placed along the metal walls, which prompted Parker to ask now –
‘What powers these lights?’
‘Generators, running mainly off batteries charged by solar power,’ replied George importantly. ‘’Course, I’ve got some gas-powered generators, just in case, but generally speaking I can get all the power I need just using the battery/solar-power set up.’
He came to another metal door. Only this one had a nail or screw somehow stuck in it, from which hung a framed piece of embroidery, the words Home Sweet Home picked out in red below a quaint, hedge-lined house with smoke issuing from its chimney.
‘My grandmother did that, sixty years ago or more,’ said George proudly – who with his gray head of hair looked to be at least fifty.
‘It’s... it’s a good bit of work,’ murmured Parker, feeling suddenly all but overcome with tiredness and hunger.
George gave him a sympathetic smile.
‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you inside and get some good food in you.’
With these words, he unlocked the metal door and pushed it open.
Gentle classical music played in a living room softly lit by two lamps. There was a widescreen television against one wall, a rack of DVDs beside it. A long sofa and a couple of comfortable chairs. Through an archway was the kitchen, a dining area with a pine table and chairs to one side of it. The sort of layout Carrie would have loved.
‘Take a seat,’ said George, motioning to the sofa as he walked through into the kitchen. ‘I’ll get dinner on the go. How do you like your steak?’
Parker shook his head and blinked several times as he seated himself.
Just cut off its horns and shave its ass...
‘Ah – however... However’s great, thanks,’ he mumbled.
Soon, the smell of frying set his mouth watering. He’d never been much of a cook himself, though he liked eating. Good job then he’d got married to Carrie, who’d been a great cook.
‘How long – ’
Parker coughed, clearing his throat, and tried again –
‘How long you been here, George?’
‘Since this whole thing started,’ came the reply from inside the kitchen area. ‘Before, even. I mean, I knew it was coming – this plague, or something else like it. So I started stockpiling things I was gonna need, got the generators together and suchlike.
‘’Course,’ George continued, ‘my set-up here was still pretty basic, by the time it was certain that the world as we knew it was pretty much finished. But I been out since, visited stores and such, and got what I needed to make my living quarters nice and cosy. That said, it’s taken a lot of effort – you wanna try shifting that sofa you’re sitting on from the shop that’s a good few blocks away to here, all by yourself?’
Parker realized that this last question was actually intended as a joke. He forced a laugh.
‘No,’ he said, ‘no, I sure wouldn’t. But it’s... it’s comfortable.’
‘Too comfortable,’ replied George jovially. ‘I crash out on it most nights, watching one of my favorite films or such.’
‘So...’ Parker hesitated; then realized that he might as well just ask the question outright. He thought he already knew the answer; but still...
‘You here by yourself?’ he finished.
‘Sure am,’ returned George readily. ‘Best way to be, if you ask me. I was married twenty-five years, give or take...’
His voice fell into silence. Puzzled, Parker looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen. Stood over a large hob, frying the steaks, George was shaking his head.
‘She got sick,’ said George. ‘I didn’t; she did. I had to leave her. I had to...’
Parker’s mind yet again flashed back to Carrie. He’d had to leave her. Had she then died – or was she now a –
Again there came that cold, inner admonishment: You coward. Once it would have caused Parker to get hopelessly drunk and cry wretched tears, scarcely caring if he lived or died...
But now he determinedly forced the thought away, even as it was replaced by the one that had recently begun occurring –
You have to return...
You have to know.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Parker quietly.
‘Hey,’ replied George, his voice once again jovial. He seemed to switch moods quickly. ‘No need to be sorry! I sure as hell ain’t! Truth be told, I hated the bitch. I know, I know – that may sound like a harsh thing to say, but, I got my reasons...
‘Anyway, me and her were finished years before the virus struck. We just lived together out of convenience, you might say...’
Parker nodded, even though George wasn’t looking in his direction, but said nothing. Wasn’t much he could think of to say.
‘Anyway,’ said George then, ‘come on through to the kitchen and have a seat at the table. I done your steak medium, since you didn’t have a preference. Same as mine.’
Parker stood up and walked under the archway to the pine table and chairs. There was wine-rack in one corner; a tall potted plant in the other. Parker had to admit: this was one hell of a relaxing atmosphere.