The Jakarta Pandemic

by Steven Konkoly

  “I guess we should turn off some of these lights and sit upstairs with the kids watching a movie,” he said, glancing around the kitchen and smirking at her.

  “Nice try,” she said and walked to the bank of switches next to the sink. She turned off the under-cabinet lighting, which darkened the kitchen. The soft glow of a lamp in the great room cast more than enough light into the kitchen for them to see. Alex looked out of the wide window over the kitchen sink and stared at the numerous lights in the windows of the several houses within his view.

  “Looks like nobody else cares,” he said, nodding toward the window.

  “They’ll care when the power fails,” Kate replied, walking over to the great room. “It’s a good practice anyway…pandemic power failure or not. We keep way too many lights on around here. The kids turn on every light, in every room or hallway they use. I think your marine protégé is still afraid of the dark,” she said, referring to Ryan.

  “He respects the dark,” Alex countered.

  “Then according to your weird logic, shouldn’t he be learning to embrace the dark? Like maybe using one less light at a time until he is walking around the house in the pitch black?”

  “All right, whatever…he’s afraid of the dark. Nobody likes the dark. Like I always say, most of the bad shit usually happens when it’s dark. You coming upstairs?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll join you guys after I close up down here.”

  “See you in a few,” he said, walking toward the staircase. He suddenly remembered the pistol and turned around. The light in the great room went out and Kate met him in the kitchen.

  “Forget something?” she asked, and Alex detected a cheeky tone.

  “Maybe,” he said, standing between the island and the kitchen desk, hoping that she’d head upstairs.

  “Last week I put it in the nightstand for you.”

  “I know. Thanks,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. I got your back around here,” she said and slapped his butt. “Can you make sure the doors are locked?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  Alex sat bathed in the soft glow of his office computer screen, examining the ISPAC world pandemic map. He placed the cursor over the United States: “United States. Population 310,810,109. 1,920,341 reported cases. Borders closed. Uncontained.”

  Before opening the ISPAC site, he read several articles confirming that the national healthcare system’s surge capacity had been exceeded nationwide. This assessment included all of the available mobile Federal Medical Stations, which, as of late last week, had all been deployed to major metropolitan areas. At this point, almost no effective inpatient or outpatient care was available for the treatment of new cases.

  He moved the cursor across the Pacific Ocean to China: “China. Population 1,350,678,400. Massive outbreak. 152,843,000 reported cases as of 11/26/013. Further case reporting to be based on data samples and mathematical estimates. Borders closed. Uncontained.”

  Reluctantly, he pushed the cursor over Maine: “Maine. Population 1,415,484. Large cluster outbreak. 88,434 cases confirmed. Uncontained. Surge capacity exceeded.”

  “Portland. Population 66,144. Large cluster outbreak. 21,400 cases reported. Uncontained. Surge capacity exceeded.”

  Alex resisted the urge to analyze Boston, knowing the situation would be considerably worse, and that way too many of those people were already on their way up to Maine. He was mostly concerned with eastern Massachusetts, specifically the densely-populated areas around Boston. Headlines throughout greater Boston strongly indicated that the area was on the brink of exploding into a full scale civil riot. If that happened, the city would turn into a war zone, further escalating the refugee situation and the desperation of those fleeing north.

  That’s when the real fun’ll start around here.

  Alex put the computer into standby mode and turned off the screen, which darkened the room. He stood up from the chair and kneeled down to peer through a two-inch opening at the bottom of the office window shade. With the lights out in the office and the adjoining hall, he could scan the neighborhood unobserved.

  He could see only a few scattered lights, mostly on the second floors of homes in the neighborhood. He stared at a fixed point above the Sheppards’ front door for about one minute, relying on his peripheral vision to detect any movement in the neighborhood.

  Nothing. No creepers yet.

  Before standing up, he stared at the McDaniel house, wondering where Amanda and Katherine bunked for the night, hoping they took his advice to stay in the same room and barricade the door with a folding chair. He told them to call either his house or Ed’s if they heard anything unusual inside or outside of the house. He felt bad that they were alone without an adult, but not bad enough to risk bringing the flu into his own house. He pulled the shade down to the windowsill and walked out of the office.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Tuesday, November 26, 2013

  Alex was startled out of a shallow sleep by the home telephone on his nightstand. Without looking, he reached over to grab the handset out of its charging cradle, knocking his smartphone onto the floor, hearing it bounce off the carpet and hit the nightstand.

  Damn it.

  He found the phone and brought the light blue LED illuminated handset to his face. “Walker, Edward.”

  “Hello? Ed?” he answered.

  “Alex,” Ed said urgently, “someone forced their way into my basement, through the bulkhead door. I heard it creak open. I think they might still be here. I have the kids in our room. I don’t want to—”

  “Just stay where you are, Ed. I’ll be over there in less than a minute,” Alex assured him, shooting up out of bed.

  “Should I call the police? I don’t know if you—”

  “You can try, but I don’t think we’re going to see any cops around anytime soon. Ed, stay in your bedroom, away from the door. Open one of your back windows. I’ll be right over. I’m hanging up now.”

  He rushed over to his closet and pulled on a pair of jeans that were lying in a heap on the closet floor, hastily pulled a gray sweatshirt over his head, and grabbed the Mossberg shotgun. He pulled down a box of “double ought” buckshot shells and opened it, stuffing several of them into the front pockets of his jeans. As he emerged from the closet, he heard Kate’s voice emanate from the bed.

  “What’s going on?” she murmured.

  “Ed thinks someone has broken into his basement. I’m going over to investigate.”

  “Why doesn’t he call the police?” she mumbled.

  “Because it’ll take the police hours to respond…if they respond. You should bring the kids into the bedroom, or at least lock their doors. I’m heading out right now.”

  He didn’t want to waste any more crucial time talking to someone that he knew wouldn’t be capable of a lucid conversation for at least another ten minutes, and right now, he didn’t have time to brew the coffee necessary to speed up the process.

  Alex reached the mudroom and grabbed his keys, stuck his bare feet into his running shoes and took a powerful, compact LED flashlight off the same shelf as his keys. He tucked this into his right back pocket along with the keys and opened the door to the garage. He locked the door as he slid through and closed it behind him, skirting along the 4Runner and performing the same action on the back door of the garage.

  He slipped into the frigid air of a dark, overcast November night and tested the door to the garage. Locked. A violent shiver overtook him as his body registered the change in temperature, and he immediately regretted the decision to ignore the wide selection of fleeces and jackets available to him in the mudroom. Pushing the self-pity aside, he moved swiftly across his backyard to the concealment of several squat pine trees near the back of his lot, keeping his eyes trained on Ed’s house.

  High in the western sky, Alex could barely perceive the moon’s glow, which cast no useful illumination through the thick layer of clouds. As he reached the trees, the open bulkhead d
oors materialized from behind the Walkers’ deck. Alex took to a knee behind one of the trees, extending his head out far enough to monitor the doors. He took a shotgun shell out of the speed feeder in the stock of the shotgun, ignoring the shells in his pockets, and loaded it into the bottom of the shotgun, repeating the procedure two more times.

  He pumped the shotgun, loading a shell into the chamber, stiffening at the sound of the pumping mechanism, hoping that the sound didn’t carry all the way to the Walkers’ house. In close proximity, the sound of the pump action was unmistakable and usually enough to stop even the most stubborn adversary. At this distance, he didn’t think the sound would be loud enough to elicit the same response. He quickly ensured that the safety was engaged and started to move swiftly toward the Walkers’ deck.

  With my luck, I’ll trip on some frozen dog shit and set this thing off.

  He crouched slightly, carrying the shotgun by the receiver with his right hand, struck by the absolute silence of the night in the late fall. Halfway to the deck, a dark figure darted out of the open bulkhead door, sprinting toward the Andersons’ backyard. A second figure emerged from the evergreen bushes on the border of the Andersons’ and Walkers’ property, and ran to join the intruder toward the back of the lot.

  A lookout?

  Alex changed his own direction to match that of the two figures and sprinted toward them yelling, “Stop! Police! Stop! Don’t move!”

  One of the figures slowed down and turned around, but Alex couldn’t tell in the blackness if it was the intruder or the lookout. Both figures merged at the edge of the Walkers’ property, and he lost track as they dodged between evergreens. Either way, one of the burglars had no intention of stopping, and Alex didn’t want to lose either of them. He yelled another warning as he approached the closest figure, who was now at a standstill. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  The runner didn’t slow, and Alex fired the shotgun straight up into the air. The man in front of him took a few panicky steps backward and fell over a railroad tie into the hard dirt of the Andersons’ empty vegetable garden. The runner slowed down considerably, and Alex fired another deafening shot into the air, which stopped the man in his tracks. He pumped the shotgun again, chambering another shell, and started walking toward the downed figure in the Andersons’ garden, his ears ringing from the two blasts.

  “Get back here, or I’ll blast your friend all over the yard! Now!” Alex said, aiming the shotgun at the figure on the ground. “Don’t move,” he cautioned the prone intruder.

  He drew a deep but quiet breath, straining to regain his wind after the brief sprint. He’d keep drawing quick shallow breaths through his nose until he felt more steady.

  “Hey, don’t shoot me, you don’t have to shoot me,” the man said, panicky.

  I know that voice.

  “You better call that fucker back over here. He looks like he’s going to bolt, and if he does, I’m going to blast one of your legs off, and then hunt him down,” Alex said, pointing the barrel at the man’s right leg.

  “Todd! Todd! This guy isn’t messing around. You need to get back here!” Mike Lynch said, twisting his body far enough to face Todd.

  Alex heard the distant figure muttering, still considering his options. He then started to walk back across the Andersons’ yard toward Alex, who shifted the shotgun from his right shoulder to his right hip, keeping it trained on Mike.

  “Are either of you two armed?” he asked Mike.

  “No, just a walkie-talkie. We didn’t…we weren’t trying to hurt anyone. We were looking for…”

  “Don’t say another fucking word, Mike!” Todd said, approaching them nonchalantly.

  Alex saw what looked like a radio in his hand. “You might want to take this a little more seriously, Todd,” he said, pointing the shotgun towards Todd’s head.

  “Don’t point that gun at my head!” Todd protested, waving his hands uselessly in front of him.

  Alex could see that he was holding a small radio with a thick, stubby antenna. “I’ll do whatever I want right now. Stop right there. If you take more than two steps in my direction, I’ll fire on you. And keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “You’re not gonna fire at anyone,” Todd said.

  Alex pointed the shotgun back at Mike. “What do you think, Mike?” he asked.

  Mike looked up at Todd and shook his head. “I wouldn’t mess with this guy, Todd. I think he’s a little…off right now.”

  “‘Off’ is a good term. Right now I’m looking for any reason to permanently erase the two of you from my list of worries,” Alex said, shifting the gun’s aim back at Todd.

  “Quit pointing that thing at me!” Todd said.

  “Or what?” Alex asked, shaking his head at Todd.

  Mike started to slowly get up, clapping his hands together to clean off the dirt.

  “Stay where you are, Mike,” Alex warned, keeping the gun aimed at Todd.

  Mike lowered his body back down into the dirt.

  I don’t have to worry about Mike. He’s under voice control now.

  Alex heard one of the Walkers’ windows open, but didn’t turn to look.

  “Alex! Who are they? What’s going on?” Ed yelled in a whisper from above.

  I just fired a shotgun twice, and he’s whispering.

  “It’s our good friends Todd and Mike! Out for an evening stroll!”

  Alex scanned his two neighbors, both of whom were dressed in blue jeans, hiking boots, and dark-colored jackets. Alex guessed that Todd’s was dark blue, and that Mike’s was a natural shade of green, like pine, although he couldn’t be sure. Mike wore a dark blue ball cap with what Alex was pretty sure was a reddish ‘B’ on the front. Todd had a black watch cap pulled tightly over his head, covering his ears. Neither of them appeared to be carrying or hiding anything.

  “Didn’t find what you’re looking for?” Alex asked.

  “I’m out of here,” Todd said.

  Just as he finished his sentence, a woman’s voice emanated from the direction of Todd’s house. Through the darkness, Alex perceived movement in one of the windows above Todd’s garage, and he suddenly felt exposed standing out in the open. He moved to his left, putting Todd between himself and the open window.

  No reason to make this an easy shot for anyone.

  “You stay right there, or your wife is going to remember this night for the rest of her life,” Alex said, raising the shotgun to his shoulder and aiming directly at Todd’s head.

  Todd raised his right hand out in front of his face.

  “Don’t bother, you’ll lose the hand and your head.”

  “I don’t really give a shit, Alex. My wife probably won’t have the memory of you killing me for very long. I just hope she passes before one of the kids does. That’s a memory I don’t want her to carry for even a minute,” Todd said.

  “I’m sorry, Todd,” Alex said, truly meaning it.

  “Are you?” Todd asked and shook his head.

  Alex lowered the gun barrel, pointing at the ground between Mike and Todd. Todd’s wife was still yelling out of the window, but Alex couldn’t make out what she was saying. Todd looked back at the window, then turned his head slowly around to Alex.

  “If you’re planning to shoot us, now would be a good time. Otherwise, I’ll see you later,” he said and started to walk toward his house.

  Mike remained on the ground, eyes darting back and forth between Alex and Todd.

  “Last warning, Todd. If I find you on either of these two lots again, I will kill you on sight. Same with the McDaniels’ house. Actually, if I find you sneaking around anywhere in the neighborhood, you’re a dead man. Keep to yourself. The same goes for you, Mike. Do you understand me?”

  Mike acknowledged him immediately with a vigorous nod and a weak “yes.” Todd muttered “whatever.”

  The sudden deafening detonation of the shotgun dropped Todd to his knees. As Alex’s hearing flooded back, he picked up screams from Todd’s master bedroo
m window. Todd was frozen on his knees and didn’t look back. Alex racked the slide of the shotgun again, although the shotgun’s ammunition cylinder was empty, and he pointed the shotgun at Todd’s back.

  “I’ll ask you that question one more time. Do you understand my terms?” he asked quietly over the relentless screams pouring out of Todd’s house.

  Todd nodded his head and muttered “yes.”

  “Good. Now get out of here. Both of you,” Alex said, lowering the shotgun.

  Both of them rose up quickly and sprinted toward the back of Todd’s house. Alex watched them disappear behind Todd’s house, and turned toward the open window on the second floor of the Walkers’. He engaged the safety on the shotgun.

  “You need to keep your bulkhead door locked,” he said wryly.

  “Yeah, like I haven’t checked my bulkhead thirty times since this started,” Ed replied, suddenly appearing from the bulkhead steps.

  “Does it look jimmied?” Alex asked, taking the flashlight out of his back pocket.

  “Hold on,” Ed said, descending the stairs.

  Light poured out of the basement a few seconds later as he reemerged to examine the locking mechanism. Alex activated his flashlight and pointed it at the locking bolt.

  “Jesus, what do you have a million candle power coming out of that thing?” Ed asked, shielding his eyes.

  “Sorry.” Alex shut off the light. He leaned down by the mechanism, which consisted of a thick metal bolt, curved on both ends to keep it from falling out of the sliding mechanism. There really wasn’t much to it, and from casual observation, it looked intact and undamaged. Alex glanced over his shoulder toward the Andersons’ yard. “Sure you locked it?” he asked.

  “Positive,” Ed replied.

  “I’d hate to think it’s that easy to manipulate one of these. I have the same thing at my house.”

  “I don’t know. It’s not exactly a complicated system, and the bulkhead itself isn’t exactly airtight. I’m gonna try and jam some wood between the bolt and the door, wedge it in place better.”