The Jakarta Pandemic

by Steven Konkoly

  Nothing obvious.

  He left the door for the moment and walked up onto the deck to peer through the sliding glass doors, but his view inside the house was blocked by blinds extending the length of the glass door. He knocked on the glass and backed up slightly, contemplating his image in the reflection of the glass. Jeans, blue winter jacket, black wool hat, sunglasses and gloves. Nothing out of the ordinary. He removed the glasses so that the Coopers might recognize him more easily.

  Nothing.

  He knocked more forcefully on the door and stepped back again. He waited at least a full minute, glancing frequently in the direction of the Hayes’ backyard.

  Nothing, but they could easily be asleep. Maybe I did this too early.

  He walked to the far side of the deck and examined the back windows.

  Blinds are drawn of course.

  He noticed tracks in the snow leading from the Coopers’ yard to the Hayes’ yard.

  Going in both directions. That’s not a good sign.

  He saw that the tracks followed closely along the back of the Hayes’ house and stepped off the deck, returning to the garage door. He stared at the doorknob.

  I hate to do this if they’re home.

  Alex wondered if Max might attack him.

  Highly unlikely. Where was Max when I knocked on the door?

  He contemplated trying to sneak around to their mudroom to ring their doorbell. He debated the risk, then laughed out loud at the idea, smacking his head.

  No electricity, dummy.

  He tested the doorknob.

  Locked.

  He put his shoulder up to the door and pushed. The door opened with no resistance and flew inward, smashing into the shelves along the wall behind it. He stumbled into the garage and nearly fell onto several white plastic bags filled with trash, regained his footing and returned to the door.

  He glanced around the garage and saw more white trash bags in front of the silver Volvo parked next to him, and part of a wood pile between the two parked cars. He pushed his feet through the white bags and moved halfway across the front of the Volvo. He leaned over and saw that the Coopers’ wood was thrown in a disorganized pile that extended from the front of the cars to the garage bay doors, and also saw several small dents and scrapes on the doors of the black Toyota Highlander parked in the farthest bay.

  Didn’t waste any time getting the wood inside.

  Alex turned his attention back to the door, examined the strike plate set into the back door’s trim, and found it completely loose.

  I’m not the first person to put my shoulder up against this door.

  He saw that the door was not fitted with a deadbolt and shook his head. A few years before, after a rash of burglaries in Scarborough, Kate had insisted that they install deadbolts on all of their outer access doors, including the door between the garage and mudroom. He took the walkie out of his right jacket pocket and called Kate. “You there, hon?”

  “Yep, kids are still asleep up here. Where are you?” she asked.

  “I’m standing inside the Coopers’ garage. Looks like someone muscled their way through the back door. I’m going to check out the rest of the house. I knocked on the back sliders several times. No answer.”

  “They could be sleeping. Did they break through the deadbolt?” she asked.

  “They don’t have a deadlock back here.”

  “What? Jesus, I hope they’re all right.”

  “Me too. I’m gonna check out the other door and head inside. I’ll keep this on. Anything going on outside?”

  “Nothing so far. Keep me posted,” Kate said.

  “Yep, talk to you soon, out.”

  Alex put the walkie back in his jacket and pulled out his handgun, pulled the slide back and released it, which chambered a round and left the hammer cocked. Since his version of the USP45 did not have a manual safety, he depressed the de-cocking lever, and the hammer sprang shut. Now he would have to apply a considerably higher amount of pressure to fire the weapon. He held the pistol in his right hand and pulled a flashlight out of his left jacket pocket, walked around the trash bags, and slid alongside the silver Volvo sedan. He arrived at the mudroom door and directed the beam toward the door handle.

  On first inspection, he saw damage to the trim. He leaned against the door with his left shoulder and pushed lightly on the door. Like the garage door, the mudroom door offered no resistance and swung halfway open, and Alex saw splinters of wood on the floor. The door frame around the strike plate was splintered inward, indicating to him that the door had been forced open. He turned off the flashlight and stuffed it in his pocket. He held the pistol with both hands in front of him, his finger off the trigger. Crouching slightly, he walked forward, aiming into the house, pushing the door open with his extended arms. The mudroom appeared to be in order. He called out to the Coopers.

  “Paul, Nancy. It’s Alex Fletcher. Hello?”

  No response.

  He edged forward and looked into the kitchen. He saw several broken glass jars on the floor in front of their pantry and an electric can opener lying upside down in the glass. Empty Tupperware containers and silverware littered the kitchen floor beyond the pantry. The bathroom door off the mudroom was closed. He walked up to it and listened at the door.

  Silence.

  He opened it and found nothing out of place inside. He entered the kitchen, stepping carefully around the broken glass. The rest of the kitchen was in complete disarray; every cabinet door or kitchen drawer was open, and the contents of several cabinets lie smashed on the brown-speckled granite countertop. He looked into the pantry next to him and saw that it was mostly empty. A few empty plastic containers sat against the back wall of one of the lower shelves. Two blenders, a stainless steel toaster, and several large mixing bowls sat untouched on the top shelf. He walked around the other side of the island, stepping on some of the glass. The sink was full of glass shards and half shattered wine glasses.

  “Paul! Nancy! It’s Alex Fletcher! Are you guys all right?”

  Where’s Max?

  Hearing no response, he was now convinced that they were dead. He walked carefully around the other side of the kitchen island and approached the stairs, aiming the pistol at the stairway. Keeping the gun pointed ahead of him, he walked to the top of the stairs and glanced to the right, noting that the door to the master bedroom was shut. He decided to check the two guest rooms first, since both doors were open, and slowly entered the room facing the street. The dresser drawers were open and clothing littered the hardwood floor and neatly made bed. The closet door was also open and dozens of dresses were scattered at the bottom of the closet floor. The top shelf of the closet was empty except for one folded sweatshirt.

  He backed out of the room and ducked into the second open door in the hallway. The room contained an elliptical machine, recumbent bike, a full set of dumbbells, and appeared untouched. A small entertainment center with a flat-screen TV and DVD player sat against the far wall, facing the exercise machines. Several exercise mats were folded up against the wall. Alex opened the closet, finding a large wall organizer filled with women’s shoes and designer purses.

  Wow, and I thought Kate had too many shoes.

  He backed out of the room and stared at the closed door down the hall.

  God, I don’t want to open that door.

  His radio crackled to life, and he felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through his body.

  “Honey, what’s going on over there?”

  “Jesus, Kate, you scared me. The house has been ransacked. I’m about to open the master bedroom door. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”

  “Be careful.”

  He turned down the volume and tucked the radio back into his jacket, walked up to the door and stood to the side of it, pressed up against the door trim. He listened intently for any signs of life on the other side of the door and heard a low whine, which sounded like a dog.

  Max?

  He knocked on the door, keeping h
is body out of the doorway.

  “Paul, Nancy. It’s Alex Fletcher,” he called and waited.

  He immediately heard a dog barking from further inside the room, but received no response from Paul or Nancy. He grabbed the doorknob with his left hand and turned it, keeping the pistol pointed at the door. He pushed the door open firmly.

  The smell hit his nose before the door struck the wall. He’d thought he had forgotten the smell of death, but the distant memory of the putrid, unmistakable stench rushed back and seized him. The sharp odor of gunpowder competed with the nauseating smell. He stood pressed against the wall, frozen. He didn’t want to see what was in that room. He didn’t need to. His assessment of the situation was complete. Paul and Nancy were dead. Max barked and jarred him out of his thoughts.

  “I have to get Max out of here,” he said to himself and stepped into the room, lowering the pistol.

  He walked past the master bathroom to his left, grimacing as the entire master suite came into view. A transom window lining the back wall of the bedroom let in enough direct morning sun for him to see clearly. A king-sized dark pine sleigh bed sat under the transom windows, flanked by two dark wooden nightstands.

  A massive crimson stain on the wall above the right nightstand caught his attention first, spreading across the far corner of the room onto the adjacent wall. The back board just above the pillows on the right side had been hit by a shotgun blast, leaving a basketball-sized hole. Several smaller holes surrounded the massive gap in the back board.

  “Double ought” buck. First blast was a miss?

  He couldn’t see behind the right side of the bed, but feared the worst. He walked past the bed and looked down on the floor behind it. As expected, he saw a body, face down, covered with drying blood.

  Second shot scored a direct hit.

  A three-legged wrought iron lamp was wedged between the nightstand and the adjacent wall, its tan lampshade blood-splattered and torn. The hardwood floor surrounding the body was covered in a dark, semi-reflective fluid. The pool of thickened blood extended all the way to the front of the bed and to the wall next to the body. He couldn’t immediately tell if it was Paul or Nancy; most of the head was missing. The body was dressed in a blood-soaked gray sweatshirt and dark blue sweatpants. He saw a black athletic wristwatch.

  Guy’s watch.

  What he saw next confirmed that it was Paul’s body. On the left side of the bed, another body lay completely covered underneath a blood-soaked light blue comforter. The bloodstain radiated in a rough circular pattern, at least four feet in every direction, from a large, dark red hole in the heavy blanket. Thick splotches covered the dark pine headboard. He saw no blast marks on the wood above the second body.

  No misses here.

  Alex walked up to the bed for a closer look. The intensity of the nauseating smell increased, causing him to gag. Voided excrement now overpowered the acrid smell of gunpowder. By looking at the shape under the blanket, he concluded that the body was on its back. The shotgun blast lined up with the chest. Small blood-speckled feathers lay diffusely scattered on the comforter and nightstand. He saw long, dark brown hair, matted with thick blood, falling down the side of a crimson-stained pillow. He couldn’t see the face, which was still covered by the blanket, but he didn’t need to pull the blanket back to see that it was Nancy.

  Probably shot at point-blank range, while hiding under the blankets.

  He checked the left side of the bed and found a small pool of blood on the floor just under the bed.

  Jesus, the mattress must be drenched.

  Suddenly realizing he was holding the pistol in a death grip, he eased off the handle, took a few steps back and turned around. Max’s cage was tucked into one of the bump outs facing the street, pushed all the way back under the window, covered with a dark green comforter. He saw Max’s black paws repeatedly scraping at the stainless steel grating, and Max began to whine and bark frantically as he approached the cage.

  I don’t know if this is a good idea.

  He looked around for a dog leash, or anything he could use to lead Max out of the room and hoped that Max was at least wearing a collar. Getting him out of the room could be very difficult without one. He remembered seeing several leashes and dog collars in the mudroom.

  I’ll need to grab some dog food, too.

  He tucked the pistol into his jeans and knelt down by the front of the cage, where Max was scratching uncontrollably at the cage door.

  “Hey, Max. Good boy,” he said in a gentle, soothing voice. “Oh yes, you are a good boy. I’m going to open up your cage, buddy. Good boy.”

  He removed the comforter from the cage, and Max sat attentively, looking up at him. He couldn’t tell if Max’s tail was wagging, but the dog seemed calm.

  “Good boy,” he said again, and Max cocked his head.

  Looks friendly enough.

  Alex slid open the latch and slowly opened the cage, afraid of Max’s reaction.

  “Come here boy,” he urged.

  Max bounded forward with his tail wagging, nuzzling him and licking his face, then turned to Alex’s left and moved toward the bed. He was relieved to see a dark purple nylon collar on Max and grabbed it. He stood up and started to drag Max out of the bedroom. Max continued to tug in the opposite direction, with his tail wagging, but soon looked back at Alex and gave up.

  “You want a treat, boy?” he asked, hoping to distract the dog.

  Max’s ears perked up, and Alex led him out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the stairs. Max frequently stopped to smell the carpet and walls on the way down to the mudroom. Once there, Alex grabbed one of the thick black nylon leashes and attached it to Max’s collar. He slipped two large choke chains and another red collar into his left jacket pocket. He found a box of dog treats and a thirty-pound bag of dog food in the mudroom closet. He fished out a treat for Max, who followed him closely. Alex heaved the bag of dog food over his left shoulder, holding the leash and dog treat box in his right hand. He walked out of the mudroom into the garage and closed the door behind him. He sat the dog food and treats just inside the back door and stepped outside with Max. Max urinated on the side of the house while he pulled the door shut. Steam rose from the large, wet stain on the gray siding, and Alex took the walkie out of his pocket.

  “Hey, honey, you there,” he asked.

  “Yep. Nothing’s moving out there. What did you find?”

  “You really don’t want to know. We have a very big problem here on Durham Road. I’m headed over to the Hayes’ to check out the situation there,” he said and started to walk across the snow toward the Hayes’ house.

  “What happened to the Coopers?” she insisted.

  “Are the kids listening?”

  “Hold on,” she said. A few seconds later she was back on the radio. “Okay, I’m in the bathroom. They’re still crashed out.”

  “They were killed in the bedroom. Looks like shotgun blasts. One took off the top of Paul’s head, and the other…”

  “That’s enough…I get it. Why are you going to the Hayes’? It’s too dangerous. I think we know what you’ll find there.”

  Alex considered her argument, which sounded reasonable, but didn’t satisfy him.

  “I have to be sure. Charlie heard more shooting the other night. Someone might still be alive, though I seriously doubt it. I’ll take a quick look and scoot back home. I have Max with me. He’s fine.”

  “Don’t take him over there. Why don’t you come home? Bring Max back, he must be scared out of his mind.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Plus, I feel better having him with me. Nothing can sneak up on us. I’ll be home in under ten minutes.”

  “Can you find any food for Max at their house? I know you probably don’t want to go back in there.”

  “I’m one step ahead of you. I have a thirty-pound bag waiting for the return trip. I’m almost at the house. Call you in a few.” He put the walkie away.

  He reached the co
rner of the Hayes’ garage and looked across the street at Charlie Thorntons’ house.

  Fuck.

  Alex had crossed between the two houses and couldn’t remember if the Murrays’ house had come into view. He’d been talking to Kate and not paying attention.

  Too late now.

  “Damn it. I can’t believe I did that,” he said aloud.

  He decided to try the back door first and moved along the back of the garage, staying as close to the wall as possible. He couldn’t see the Murrays’ house, but he didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

  He reached the door and noticed brown cardboard on the inside of the door’s window, which completely blocked his view into the garage. He pushed the door open with little effort, and Max pulled them both into the dark space. The smell of concentrated garbage overwhelmed his senses as he regained control of the dog and quickly scanned the garage.

  He closed the door behind him, and the garage was plunged into complete darkness. He waited several seconds for his eyes to adjust and slowly walked forward. He moved past the neatly stacked firewood against the far wall and stumbled through several plastic trash bags as he slid along a minivan to get to the mudroom door.

  He effortlessly opened the door and saw that it had been forced open just like the Coopers’. He took in the slack on Max’s leash and stepped in the house. A very fine layer of white dust blanketed the mudroom floor and a dark pine bench, on which lay several dust-coated jackets. He didn’t see any footprints in the powder, or anything else out of order in the mudroom.

  Strange.

  A faint, sickening odor confirmed his worst suspicions as he stepped inside the kitchen from the mudroom. He saw evidence of at least five shotgun blasts on the half-wall between the eat-in kitchen area and the family room. Like the Coopers’, the kitchen was ransacked.