Pandora (Book 5): Behold A Pale Horse

by McCrohan, Richard

  “Hi, I’m LaShawn,” he said, “nice meeting you.”

  Greta smiled and said, “Oh, I know you from Prof. Goldman’s sociology class.”

  Pointing at Greta in recognition, LaShawn laughed, “Oh, yeah. I remember. How are you? You are from, uh, Europe, right? Germany?”

  “Austria, close,” she said with a laugh.

  “C’mon guys,” Jason said, “hop in the back seat and let’s get moving. A lot of people are going to be on the road today, I think. I want to make sure that we don’t get bogged down in traffic.”

  Everyone seated, the Camaro pulled away and headed out of the city. As they were driving they noticed a number of couples and families packing up their cars and SUVs.

  “Wow, you’re right,” said Erica. “A lot of people seem to be taking off.”

  “You heard about the quarantine, didn’t you?” Jason said.

  “What quarantine?” asked Erica.

  “One of the campus radio stations said they heard that the government is going to enforce a mandatory sequestering of all previous Pandora victims on Sunday morning.”

  “What?” the two girls said.

  “Yeah,” LaShawn said, “they’re doing it in secret. Nobody was supposed to know until they did it.”

  “That sucks,” Erica gasped.

  “You’re telling me,” Jason agreed “apparently some aide in the White House spilled the beans and talked to a reporter. The president is furious.”

  “But where are all these people going to go?” Greta said.

  Jason laughed, “You got me?”

  The conversation continued on covering a multitude of topics. Jason was telling Erica and Greta about a frat party he went to last week. It was a very funny story. LaShawn had heard it before and remained quiet. He thought about what Greta had said: But where are all these people going to go? Where indeed? He flipped the visor down and turned the mirror up. Glancing at himself, he saw that his eyes were all bloodshot. Jason had noticed that when he got into the car. LaShawn told him he partied a little too hard the night before. That was a lie. He flipped the visor up again. His eyes looked worse. Maybe it was because of the headache he was starting to develop. Shit, he thought. Well, my father’s a doctor. Maybe he’ll know what to do. I probably should have told him that I got the first Pandora virus a few weeks ago. But it wasn’t too bad and I didn’t want to make a big deal over it. LaShawn put his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. It’s only a few hours till I get home. No sense worrying about this shit now. It’ll wait.

  § § §

  Patrick Shannon pulled the Toyota Highlander into the Acme parking lot. It wasn’t even ten o’clock in the morning and the lot was already full. He got lucky at the gas station and there were only three cars ahead of him. But by the time he had filled up his car and the two gas cans, the line was snaking all the way up the block. Patrick quickly found a parking space and hurried to the front entrance. Commandeering a cart from a lady who had just finished loading her car, he pushed it through the automatic doors. It took him a second to react to the scene inside. It was bedlam. Frantic shoppers were rushing around throwing food and supplies into their carts seemingly at random. It looked like Black Friday. He looked down at the carefully assembled list in his hands and then back at the madness in front of him. He took a breath, and then shoved his way into the jumble of carts rushing by.

  Patrick made his way to the water aisle first. An employee was trying to restock cases of bottled water onto the shelves, but the people were taking them directly from his hand truck. Patrick was able to load three cases of water onto his cart. He then steered his way into the flavored water section and threw three more packages of water in. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two men begin to push each other. Knowing this was turning ugly, he quickly left that aisle.

  He managed to fill the rest of his wagon with canned goods, bread, and on a whim, a large bag of apples before heading for the checkout lanes. Standing in line, he started to throw some batteries and razor blades into his cart. While he was gathering them from a display at the checkout aisle, a woman reached in and stole a can of stewed tomatoes from his cart. He yelled, “Hey,” but she took off running. He knew he was really time to leave when, unloading his cart for the cashier, he heard a crash, from the back of the store. He could hear cans rolling on the tile floor and then suddenly raised voices.

  Wheeling his loaded wagon out the door he noticed a heavyset woman packing the groceries into the trunk of her car. Hers was the first car in the lane. She was in a handicapped spot, although he saw no corresponding license plate or hanging tag. What attracted his attention was the color of her face. She was deathly pale. Her skin seemed stretched on her skull. The woman was moving very slowly, like she was in pain. She looked up at him as she leaned over her cart to get the last bag. Her eyes were frighteningly bloodshot. The entire sclera seemed red. As she awkwardly picked up the bag, she winced and dropped it. Then, gripping the side of her wagon, she bent over and vomited into the mesh cart. A large amount of blood was present in the vomitus.

  Patrick quickly pushed his wagon past her. He was near the end of the row. Reaching his car, he was almost hit by a vehicle speeding past him. He hurriedly opened the hatch and unloaded wagon as quickly as he could. He was just about to close the back when he heard someone behind him say, “Give me some of your water.”

  Turning around to look, Patrick saw a man in his early twenties standing there. He had a wild eyed look and kept glancing around him.

  “Give me some of your water,” he repeated.

  “Screw you,” Patrick said to him. “Go get your own.”

  The young man, eyes still nervously darting to and fro, reached past Patrick to try to grab a case of water. As he did, Patrick roughly pushed him away. The man stumbled a bit, but then once again stepped toward Patrick.

  “Give me some –” he started.

  Patrick threw a right hand that hit the man hard on his cheek. He flew into the car parked next to them and slid down the trunk. Banging his head on the bumper, he fell to the pavement. Patrick quickly closed the hatch and jumped into the driver seat. He started the Toyota and backed out, narrowly missing another car whose horn blared loudly. Patrick pulled out and drove down the row while the young man was still struggling to stand. As he reached the end of the lane, he saw that the first car was still there, trunk open. The lady was lying on the ground, sprawled next to her dripping cart. She was lying on her back, eyes open and unblinking.

  § § §

  Anne pulled her Nissan up to the curb. Turning to the two boys in the back seat, she said, “Okay fellas, Rialto Theater.”

  Sliding over and opening his door to the curb, Dwayne said, “Thanks, Mom. See you after the movie.”

  “See you,” she said. “Next time I won’t be in such a rush and will let you drive.”

  Billy slid out and Dwayne stuck his head back in. “That’s okay, Mom. I do want to be ready. Two weeks until the driving test.”

  Smiling, Anne said, “Don’t worry, you’ll nail it. You drive well. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Mom,” Dwayne said as he closed the door. “’Bye.”

  “See you, Mrs. S,” Billy called.

  Both boys turned to the movie theater. This was the first weekend the Avengers movie was showing. It sounded awesome. This one had a new director and Dwayne hoped he wouldn’t screw it up. In a genre like this, there was a fine line between exciting action and over-the-top nonsense.

  “I thought there would be a long line for this,” Billy said puzzled.

  “Yeah,” replied Dwayne, “with all the hype, I thought for sure it would be packed.”

  Only two teenagers were at the ticket window. Dwayne and Billy walked up and paid for their tickets. Once inside they both got popcorn and soda. There were four movies being shown in the theater and the Avengers movie got the biggest screen. As they took their seats, they looked around. There were only five other patrons inside the the
ater: the two teenagers that were in front of them at the counter, another couple and an extremely fat man in his late thirties. He had a bushy beard, heavy black glasses and a colorful Avengers T-shirt stretched across his body. Around him were nacho chips, popcorn and a huge container of soda.

  Billy nudged Wayne, nodded toward the fat man and made a “loser” sign on his forehead. Both boys chuckled with her hands over their mouths. The movie wouldn’t start for another ten minutes, so they ate their popcorn and quietly talked.

  § § §

  Anne pulled into the parking lot of the local Quik-Chek and got out of the car. There were several people already inside shopping. She found the last cart and went up and down the aisles. There was no water, no bread and no cans of coffee left. Although, she was able to get a hot coffee from the machine and continued to shop; she was unable to find one thing from her list. She supplemented it with a couple of boxes of crackers and a few overpriced boxes of power bars. Disappointed, she waited to check out.

  An older woman in front of her turned and said, “I couldn’t get anything I needed either. This is the third place I’ve been to. Everyone is out. The Italian deli on Market Street isn’t even open. I couldn’t believe it. Mr. Rizzo is always open. Six days a week. I don’t understand. The young man who works there was sitting out front and said that Mr. Rizzo never showed up to open the deli. His wife didn’t come in either. I don’t understand.”

  Anne nodded her head in commiseration as the woman prattled on and on. She at last finished checking out and left, still rambling on about Mr. Rizzo. When Anne’s turn came she put her things down and said to the woman checking her out, “I can’t believe that you’re sold out of almost everything.”

  The woman said, “We opened at six and by seven it was like this. I haven’t seen this since Hurricane Sandy. Maybe worse.” Anne shook her head in dismay. “We had two idiots in the parking lot actually fighting over a carton of cigarettes. Can you believe it? Cigarettes! Fucking morons.” She picked her head up and surprise and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to use that language. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m so stressed out from this. And my husband is home sick, too. I think I’m going to close in an hour or two and then go home to take care of him.”

  “Don’t worry,” Anne said, “we are all stressed out.” She paid and left the store. As she was placing her things in the front passenger seat, three more cars entered the lot. Good luck, she thought.

  Starting the car, Anne then sat there thinking about what to do next. She had to get gas. Looking at the gas gauge, she saw that she still had slightly less than three quarters of a tank left. Not too bad, she thought. Her eyes were drawn across the street from the Quik-Chek. There was a complex of older two-story apartment buildings situated there. As she watched, she could see a number of families packing up their cars and trucks. She noticed that the inhabitants of said complex were either very young or very old. From the age and condition of the buildings she figured that this was a place you I either started at as your first home or wound up in when living on Medicare. She felt a sadness at this. Some of these people have probably gone full circle, and now they’re back to die. A tear formed in her eye and she self-consciously wiped it away.

  Putting the car in gear, she backed out and then drove three blocks down to the Mobil station. The line waiting for gas snaked down the street. Shrugging helplessly, she drove to the end of the line and took her place in the waiting queue.

  § § §

  As the black Camaro drove across the George Washington Bridge out of Manhattan, the mood in the car had become somber. Seeing the increasingly multiplying amount of vehicles on the road, the four students couldn’t believe what they were witnessing. An increasing number of cars and SUVs contained whole families and their belongings. They appeared to be fleeing the city. Because the day was already warm, a lot of the vehicles had their windows open. Looking at the people sitting inside as the Camaro moved through the traffic, they could see that among the anxious faces looking fearfully out, were a number of very sick looking individuals. Pale, sweating faces sometimes lying back in the seats with eyes closed were increasingly prevalent.

  As they neared the end of the bridge on the New Jersey side, they saw a number of state troopers and National Guard units setting up sawhorses and cones along the roads. Four very large tractor-trailers were being led down the entrance ramp by a police car with lights flashing. Near the front of the incoming lanes of the bridge, another four tractor-trailers waited.

  “What’s with the trucks?” asked LaShawn.

  “I don’t know,” replied Jason. “They look like you’re waiting for something.” He paused. “Why is the National Guard here on the bridge on the Jersey side?”

  “And all the troopers,” added Erica.

  “They didn’t have that in New York City,” said Jason.

  “You don’t think they’re going to close the bridge, do you?” Erica said.

  “No,” said Jason, “why would they do that?”

  They watched, puzzled, as the traffic continued to crawl forward. As Erica turned her head, she found herself staring at a woman sitting in the car next to them. The woman had a painful expression on her face. Both of them locked eyes with each other; and as they stared, the other woman raised her eyebrows in the sad and helpless look. Erica was about to give her a brave smile when the woman suddenly picked her head up and opened her mouth. Instantly she vomited, covering the entire passenger side window in blood. Large chunks of something slid down the glass as she again was sick. Erica twisted her head away in disgust. Greta, who also noticed, said, “Oh, gross!” The car beside them stopped short in the lane. As the Camaro pulled slightly ahead, Jason craned his neck to see what had happened. Looking back at the car, he saw the front windshield become splattered with blood, also.

  The three lanes funneled into a single lane. As Jason pulled ahead, he could see several troopers pointing to the car with the bloody windows. Jason just pulled away as the National Guard soldiers began to converge around the stopped car now behind them. Simultaneously, the four tractor-trailers started to move forward.

  Erica sat in the backseat with her hand across her mouth moaning, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”

  LaShawn was leaning over the seatback, staring out the back windshield.

  “Oh, shit,” he said, “they’re stopping everyone behind us.”

  As the traffic halted, a cacophony of angry horns started blowing.

  “Fuck,” Jason gasped. “We just made. They’re going to shut everything down. Jesus, they’re closing the goddamn bridge. We would have been trapped there, unable to get out.”

  § § §

  Dwayne and Billy were enjoying their movie. The story and action was even better than they had hoped for. Loud explosions and crashing buildings drowned the theater in disastrous mayhem. It was perfect.

  Leaning over to his friend, Dwayne said, “This is the best.”

  The theatrical apocalypse they were watching was transpiring in epic fashion – all loud noise and colossal destruction. The actual apocalypse happening outside the theater and across the country was much more subtle and sinister, yet no less deadly. The first Pandora victims were already becoming reinfected by the mutating virus. Fathers, mothers, sons and daughters were becoming sick and succumbing to the alien virus’ fatal effects. Hospitals and emergency clinics were beginning to feel the force of the disease as suddenly ill people started to converge on the medical facilities in their neighborhoods. The CDC had already coordinated with all the major hospitals enforcing a hastily adopted plan of containment. All incoming Pandora patients would be quarantined in separate wings of the hospitals. If necessary, they would be restrained in their beds. A number of CDC doctors were already at some hospitals to assist in the implementation of their plans.

  § § §

  Steve Dwyer carried the steaming mug of tea up the stairs. Entering the master bedroom, he walked arou
nd the bed to his wife’s side. She laid there propped up on two pillows.

  “Here you go, babe,” he said as he sat mug down on a coaster on the side night table. “I have two Tylenol for your headache, also.”

  His wife, Stephanie Dwyer, smiled at him although she didn’t open her eyes. “Thanks, baby,” she said softly.

  As he put the two capsules in her hand, she slowly opened her eyes. Steve was stunned by how red and bloodshot her eyes were. She was awfully pale, too.

  “Take your pills,” he said.

  She lifted them to her mouth and carefully put them in. Steve handed her the mug and she sipped at the hot tea. Swallowing, she made a face.

  “I hope I can keep these down,” she said. “I’m really nauseous.”

  “Do you want me to bring you the pail again?” he asked.

  Nodding slightly, she said, “Sorry, but I think you’d better. I’ll keep it here just in case.”