Anxiety: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (The Agora Virus Book 2)

by Jack Hunt

“She was. We had a little boy together. Marcus. He’s fifteen now. They live in Watertown with her new guy. I don’t get to see him though. Yep, she made that quite clear.”

  “Must be hard.”

  He sighed. “It is but what can you do? I’d considered going through the courts but it would have been a waste of time. She would have just upped and disappeared. At least having her in Watertown I could drive by every now and again and see him from a distance.”

  “He didn’t want to know you?”

  “She wouldn’t let him. In his mind, I abandoned her.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And yet she went off with another guy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Ah it’s alright. She was a crackhead anyway. Nothing like Meg.”

  “So where did you meet Meg?”

  “At a singles night, believe it or not. Yeah. I lucked out with her. Gorgeous girl. Dark hair, perfectly blue eyes, and a figure that would make your head turn. Her last guy used to hit her. If I could have got my hands on him I would have… Anyway, I don’t know what she saw in me but I was glad to have known her. Even if it was for just a short time.”

  His eyes dropped slightly and it was clear that his mind was elsewhere.

  There was an awkward silence between them. “So this guy, with the weapons. How long you have known him?”

  “A long while. Let’s just say he owes me a favor.”

  “So why do I need to win him over?”

  “Because I owe him several. He’ll probably be nicer to you.”

  The boat started getting closer to the dock, which backed onto his property. He killed the engine and brought it in slowly. Frank tossed the rope and then hopped up onto the dock and tied it off. Once Jameson was out he reengaged his trap and covered up the boat with branches.

  “Where did you learn to make stuff like that?”

  “I’m a mechanic. Let’s just say I don’t work on cars in my off time.”

  Frank regarded him with amusement. “So you build traps in your spare time, and you’re taking me to see some dubious guy who is liable to blow our heads off. You want to run by me what you do again?”

  He grinned and they headed up the steep incline to his house to get his truck and head over to the stranger’s home.

  “What’s the guy’s name?”

  “Abner Rooney.”

  “Let’s hope he’s still alive.”

  Frank hopped in the other side of the truck and the engine growled to life. “Oh, he’s alive. If you think Butch Guthrie is mentally unstable, you wait until you meet Abner.”

  Frank raised an eyebrow. “Great. He’s not related, is he?”

  Eight

  Abner Rooney lived at the end of a gravel driveway just off Cottage Road, in the north end of Clayton. He owned a boat restoration business. A large American flag was flapping in the wind outside his property. Next to his stone house was a long, rustic blue clapboard building that Jameson said was used for his business. As they got closer to his property, Frank noticed that the inside of the lot was full of large schooners in various states of decay. A steel chain-link fence wrapped around the property and a large sign on the front of the gate warned people to beware of the dog.

  “How do you know this guy again?”

  “Before I got taken on full-time at Jim’s garage, I used to work for him. He does a little of everything. Restoration of boats and vehicles. He has a small wrecker’s yard out back. Guy has had me create some weird mechanical contraptions in his house. You want to meet someone who is paranoid. This is the guy.”

  “And he definitely has guns?”

  They parked in front of the gate. “Oh yeah, you just wait and see what I built him for his little stash. But remember, he’s a little skittish.”

  “What does he need them for?”

  “He collects mostly but he enjoys hunting.”

  “So he knows the Guthries?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  Frank pushed out of the truck and made his way down to the gate. There was a small chain and cow bell on the far side. Jameson swung it back and forth and it let out a clattering sound that reverberated around.

  “Abner, you there?” Jameson hollered.

  A few minutes passed without any response and then gunfire erupted. Several bursts and Jameson and Frank hit the ground and started scrambling back towards the truck on their bellies.

  “I told you he’s a bit skittish.”

  “Holy shit. Maybe we should just forget this.”

  “Your call. But I can tell you there are no guns left at the gun shop in town. It’s been cleaned out.”

  Frank sought cover behind the truck door and peered out. “You got your shotgun?”

  “You don’t want to show that. He will drop you before you get within spitting distance. Guy was in Vietnam, a sniper.”

  “Can’t be a good shot.”

  “Oh, he is. Those were warning shots. If he wanted you dead, you’d be gone by now.”

  “Comforting,” Frank replied.

  Jameson grinned. “Abner, it’s me, Jameson.”

  A grizzly voice called out. “Come out with your hands where I can see ’em.”

  “Is he serious?”

  “Just do what he says,” Jameson replied as he edged his way out and shuffled over to the gate. The sign on the front was hanging by a single piece of wire. Everything about the place looked run-down. To think that anyone brought their business here was ludicrous.

  “That’s far enough,” a hard voice bellowed over a speaker that was installed on a tree off to the left. By now he had expected to see some terrifying looking Rottweilers or Dobermans chewing at the fence but there were none.

  “Where’s his dog?”

  “You’re listening to it. They nicknamed him Dog when he was in the army. The sign on the gate was a gift from his brother. Some kind of birthday joke. He used to say he was going to take it down but he never bothered.”

  Frank scowled. Clayton was full of nutcases. After living there his entire life, he thought he had met them all — obviously not.

  Abner hollered again. “And where’s your weapons?”

  “That’s actually why we are here,” Jameson replied.

  “You expect me to believe you aren’t carrying?”

  “I have my shotgun in the truck, but Frank here wants to talk to you about getting a gun or two.”

  “Frank who?”

  Frank stepped closer. “Talbot.”

  “Never heard of you.”

  “Terry Talbot’s boy,” Frank replied.

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Rachael Talbot.”

  “Talbot,” Abner muttered with a voice that sounded like he’d smoked one too many cigarettes. “Did she run a convenience store?”

  Frank glanced at Jameson. “That’s it.”

  “Um. Nope. Don’t know her.”

  Frank palmed his face. Jameson edged forward. “Listen, you old coot, open up the gate.”

  “Did you bring my money?”

  “No, did you bring mine?” Jameson replied, then his lip curled up.

  “Don’t be coy with me, boy. If you don’t have my money, I don’t have any time for you.”

  Frank leaned over to Jameson. “How much do you owe him?”

  “Twenty-five hundred. But he owes me over six grand for work I did over a period of six months. Every time I would bring it up, he would say his memory wasn’t what it used to be. But oh, he could remember me owing him money. As far as I’m concerned we are even and he still owes me at least three and a half.”

  “I can hear you!” Abner hollered in a gruff voice.

  “Then you know that we are even in regards to money.”

  “Bullshit. I might be getting old but I ain’t stupid.”

  Frank had enough of this going back and forth. It wasn’t getting them anywhere. “Mr. Rooney. I’ll give you the twenty-five hundred he owes you, and more if you have guns for sal
e. Just let us in.”

  There was near silence for a few minutes. All that could be heard was the river, and a flock of birds that broke in the trees.

  “How can I be sure you aren’t trying to get in here and steal what I have?”

  “I told you. He’s not going to let us in,” Jameson said turning and heading back to the truck. Frank, though, hadn’t come this far to get turned down.

  “Because we don’t have any weapons on us except the one in the truck.”

  “How can I be sure?”

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.”

  “I wish I could but unfortunately, your word means shit to me boy. Besides, you could have that virus. I think I’m safer staying clear of you.”

  “We are masked up. No symptoms in over seventy-two hours.”

  Again, more silence. Frank sighed. “Look, you tell me what you want us to do and we’ll do it.”

  As quick as a heartbeat he responded. “Strip.”

  Frank nearly coughed up a lung. “Excuse me?”

  “Strip down. Only way I can be sure you ain’t got guns.”

  Jameson rushed over to the speaker and started yelling. “Screw that. You crazy old coot! It’s not happening.”

  “Then have a good day and piss off.”

  Frank stared down at the gravel ground beneath him. He had done a lot of crazy things in his time to get what he wanted but the idea of stripping off topped them all. Still in a crouched position and peering through the fence, he could see a gun barrel sticking out of a metal door. There was small grill and the barrel was shoved into the opening and kept moving around.

  Frank went over to Jameson who was leaning against the fence and tugged at him. “We could go around the side, jump the fence, and break in.”

  “Are you out of your mind? This guy probably has the place rigged up by now with all manner of traps.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because I made the damn things.”

  Ah, things were starting to fall into place. He obviously wasn’t just seeing Sal about his marriage. The guy was insane. Frank stood there for a moment before he began taking off his jacket and undoing his shirt.

  Jameson frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s the only way in.”

  “You are playing into his head games,” Jameson said.

  “Maybe. But if it gives him peace of mind and gets us those guns, let’s just do it.”

  Jameson was hesitant at first. He scowled like a kid who was being forced to eat his greens. “Damn old coot.”

  Slowly they undressed until they were down to their underpants.

  “Satisfied?”

  “That’s real nice. Take ’em off.”

  “What?” Jameson hollered back.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself. Take ’em off.”

  A warm breeze brushed against Frank’s skin and he was beginning to question doing this. But they had gone this far. He whipped off his underpants and then stood there covering up his privates with his clothes. Jameson did the same thing.

  “Alright, last thing. Drop the clothes in front of you and squat.”

  What the hell was this? A prison strip search? An annual physical? Frank dropped his and cupped his balls and squatted down.

  “Cough.”

  He coughed.

  “Like we are really going to stash a Glock up our asses, you bastard,” Jameson said. A roar of laughter came back over the speaker. It was uncontrollable and it made both of them realize they were being made to look like fools. Frank went to put his clothes on and the laughter stopped.

  “What are you doing?” Abner said.

  “Well it’s a joke, right? This whole thing was a joke...”

  “I wasn’t laughing at you boneheads. I was laughing at a movie I’m watching. You can leave your clothes there, put your underpants back on, and bring in the money.”

  They looked at each other dumbfounded.

  A buzzing sound was heard and the gate screeched back either side. They stood there for a minute contemplating what other hoops this guy was going to make them jump through. Frank slipped his underpants on, fished out the wad of money from in his jacket, and headed on in. Jameson caught up with him.

  “Where did you get all that money from?”

  “Withdrew it from the bank before this shit storm happened. Better question is, why does he want with it? It’s no use to him.”

  “He believes the world won’t end this way. He thinks we will blow ourselves up long before a virus kills us.”

  “He really is mad. How long did you work for him?” Frank asked as they strolled over to the front door. Behind them the gate automatically closed.

  “Too long.”

  When they reached the steel door, they heard the clunk of several locks being shifted, then the door creaked open. Standing before them was a man no bigger than a leprechaun. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But he was a short little fucker. He was wearing a ruby red dressing gown, white muscle shirt, palm tree shorts, and bright yellow slippers. He squinted at them from behind small round spectacles on the end of his nose. In his hand was a .45 Magnum. It almost looked too large for him to hold.

  “You crazy son of a bitch,” Jameson said as he stepped forward. He only made it two steps when Abner cocked his gun.

  “Money first.”

  “I should—”

  “Really? You want to test me?” Abner growled.

  “It’s okay, Jameson.” Frank thumbed off twenty-five hundred and went to give it to him but he instructed him to place it on the floor and then motioned with his gun for them to step back. They moved back about five feet.

  “Keep going. Ten feet.”

  They backed up again. By now Jameson looked like he was going to blow his top. Abner pulled out a baggie and a pair of tweezers from his pocket. He approached the money and used the tweezers to pick up the notes and place them into the bag. All the while he kept his gun trained on them.

  “Is that really necessary?” Jameson barked.

  “Can’t be too careful now with all these germs going around.”

  Frank smirked. He had gained a newfound respect for the guy. He wasn’t doing anything Frank wouldn’t have done.

  “He has a point,” Frank said.

  Jameson rolled his eyes. Once Abner had stashed it away, he returned and motioned for them to go inside. They went in first and he followed. Frank noticed him give a nervous look around the yard before closing the vault-style door and then shifting home multiple locks on the other side.

  “Quite a place you have here,” Frank said.

  “It does the job.”

  “I see you have cleaned up,” Jameson said staring at the mess. Inside there were motor parts all over the place, a disassembled boat, and areas covered in grease. The smell of oil permeated the air as they stared at what he called home. It was more like a fortress. All the windows were barred and he had a room set up with surveillance that monitored at least twelve different areas at any given time.

  “So, you’re interested in guns? I hope you brought enough money. These babies are gold now.”

  “I’m sure we can reach a fair agreement,” Frank muttered as they crossed a large living room. A TV was playing some old black-and-white comedy. Three shabby-looking cats looked up from their places on the furniture, one of them shot off and disappeared under a chair. The carpet on the ground had crumbs all over it. On the table was a bottle of whiskey and a smoldering cigar resting on the edge of an overloaded ashtray. It was clear the place hadn’t seen a maid’s touch in years.

  As they followed him down a dimly lit corridor, they could hear some mumbling. Frank couldn’t quite make out what it was but as they entered the kitchen area, his eyes widened. Strapped to a chair with no clothes on was a man who must have been in his late thirties. He was bound with a type of plastic that was usually seen wrapped around large pallets of boxes. His head hung down with a rag in his mouth, and his face
was beaten to a pulp. It was hard to tell who he was without moving his head. There were battery cables attached to his nipples and the other ends hooked up to some electrical device.

  Both Jameson and Frank stopped to take in the sight but Abner didn’t even give the man a passing glance. He just kept pressing on to the next room as though he was going for a walk in the park.

  Frank thumbed towards the guy and whispered to Jameson. “What the fuck?”

  He shrugged. They caught up with the old guy who had already shuffled down the corridor and was calling for them to hurry up. They didn’t dare ask him who the guy was. They had already experienced enough weird shit for one day.

  “Come on. I don’t have all day.”

  He brought them into what looked like a games room. There was a pool table, a dartboard on the wall, and a bar in the far corner. He went behind the carved mahogany bar and leaned down and brought up an unopened bottle of bourbon.

  “Drink?”

  They both nodded. It was hard to feel tough or superior to the old guy when they were standing in their underpants. Perhaps that’s why he had done it. That or maybe he was just paranoid about people concealing weapons. He yanked the cap off and poured out three glasses, placed them on a tray, and brought them over to the pool table.

  “Well, come and get.”

  He told them to stand at the far end of the table. That suited Frank fine. He was feeling a little anguish about being inside the guy’s place. He made a mental note to take another pill when he got outside.

  “A toast!”

  “To what?”

  “The end of the world.”

  “Not sure that’s exactly something worth toasting to,” Jameson muttered.

  “It’s exactly what this world needed. Hell, the place had already taken a nosedive. We have a shit president, a shit health care system, a military that abandons its vets, and a country full of self-entitled pricks.”

  All three of them held up their small shot glasses before downing them. Frank tossed his over his shoulder. Who knew what was in it. He wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Two buttons. Don’t ever press the one on the left,” Abner said with a devilish grin. Frank had no idea what he was on about but Jameson must have as he was nodding.

  Right then, Frank felt the ground beneath them shift. It sounded like a hydraulic system was moving. He turned to find that the floor they were standing on was lowering.