Jakarta Pandemic, The (39 page)

He figured that most people would find her decision to celebrate with a gratuitous meal as inspirational, but to Alex, it signified a complete surrender. They were giving up. Going out with a bang. He felt sorry for the kids. Sorry that their parents had given up on them. Or had they? Alex knew he would never understand their situation.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the segment ended with a family that didn’t have any food for Thanksgiving and didn’t know where they would get their next meal. Of course, there were children involved, and he kept expecting the Channel 6 news crew to provide them with a gift basket or something. Anything, really, to thank them for depressing everyone, but there was nothing for the family. Just a few awkward questions for a lethargic, nearly catatonic nuclear family of four.

Alex didn’t say anything to Kate when he crawled into bed. He had watched the entire segment standing up; he had been too mesmerized by the TV to move. Kate didn’t say a word either. She just hit the off button on the remote and turned onto her left side. Alex slid under the covers and snuggled in closely, kissing her softly on her neck. She sobbed for a few minutes and then announced that they would be having a nice meal for Thanksgiving. He agreed and kissed her again, telling her how much he loved her.

The meal itself was great. Even without a proper main course, they worked from noon until nearly two to prepare the meal, which consisted of several dishes. The meal’s theme materialized mid-morning as “everyone’s favorite side dishes,” and they ate with ceremony on good china in the formal dining room. They grew more self-conscious as the sun faded, and the thin cloth curtains grew more and more transparent.

Halfway through dinner, and most of the way through a bottle of Cabernet, Alex got up and ran upstairs without saying a word. He returned with a spare dark blue comforter from the kid’s bathroom closet and wedged the edges of the comforter into the curtain rod without saying a word. Lying in bed that night they both agreed not to watch the news. Neither one of them needed to feel any guiltier about their huge meal.

Alex snapped out of the reverie when the blue sedan popped into view around Charlie’s house. He lifted the binoculars and scanned the license plate. “Beat up blue Honda, Mass” he scribbled. “5 poss 6 occup,” he added after scanning the windows.

Jam-packed. I hope they don’t stop here. They don’t look right.

The car crawled past the Fletchers’ house, and Alex was spooked by the look on the driver’s face, which nearly filled his view through the binoculars.

Sheer desperation.

Alex dropped the binoculars to his side and continued to watch the car as it moved down the street, back toward the entrance to Durham Road. “Poss danger,” he wrote next.

They all pose a danger. I don’t want any of them on the block. Maybe I need a sign out front or something.

He wished he had a cup of coffee. He’d fully intended to make some when he walked downstairs, but the first car of the morning caught his eye, and he raced to grab the binoculars to take a look. He’d been standing there ever since. He decided then that if he wanted coffee or breakfast within the next two hours, he’d have to take a break from watching the street. Kate’s wake up time had slowly drifted more toward ten or ten-thirty, and they were lucky to see the kids before eleven or eleven-thirty. Alex could barely drag himself out of bed before eight, especially since he had all day to do nothing.

Cook simple meals, work out, read, check the internet or email, watch some news, scan the neighborhood, watch a movie with the family, play some video games, nap, stand on the deck for some fresh air, check the garage, calculate how long their supplies could last, talk about the same stuff over and over again with Kate. He had an infinite number of choices, most of them padding to get him through to the next night, where he could fall asleep again holding Kate and wake up to repeat the process.

Boring, but with a key purpose hidden away under thick layers of apathy. Survival. And the key to their survival would be to never let those layers permanently dull their senses. Alex knew from experience that dullness led to carelessness. And he’d seen carelessness kill more people than he’d ever care to admit.

He shook himself out of his existential drift. These mental strolls had almost completely replaced his flashbacks, and he often found himself attached to a string of thoughts, staring blankly ahead, seeing nothing, and barely hearing anything. Alex figured they were a product of his boredom, but he didn’t welcome the change. His flashbacks were infrequent, mostly at night during dreams. This new phenomena was occurring more frequently; too frequently for his comfort.

His eyes squinted as the rust-spotted Honda turned right at the fork and did not leave the neighborhood. The car made one more turn through the neighborhood and left. Alex waited a few minutes and took a break to make coffee and reheat Thanksgiving leftovers. He anticipated a long morning.

**

The doorbell rang for the eighth time, and Alex could barely stand it. He peeked through the slats of the plantation shutters. After the first group started walking through the neighborhood, Alex ensured that all ground level shades or shutters were put to good use. For the first time in four years, he was happy that Kate had insisted on putting curtains over the small windows on each side of the front door. He even moved the blue comforter in the dining room over to the sliding glass doors, and nailed it in place to cover the wide glass opening. The doorbell rang again, and Alex felt himself start to shake.

I’m gonna throttle this asshole.

None of the previous three groups had rung the doorbell more than four times before moving on, and Alex had felt a small wave of relief wash over him as the groups moved from house to house. The wave quickly receded into a massive sea of gloom as he watched a rusted, 80s vintage, wood-paneled station wagon stop in front of the Perry’s house.

The driver of the car, a rough-looking, no-necked scruff, walked around to the rear passenger door and yanked a young girl out of the back seat. The girl, dressed in a light purple jacket more suitable for early fall, nearly fell onto her knees and started to pull away to get back into the car. Without taking his eyes off the Perry’s house, the man nearly pulled her emaciated arm out of its socket and forced her to walk compliantly with him to the Perry’s, where they spent several minutes.

Alex couldn’t see the interaction on Todd’s mudroom stoop, but he smugly mused over how this idiot had picked the worst starting point in the neighborhood. His smug look faded as the skuzzy-looking child abuser appeared walking through the Andersons’ yard, picking up speed as he headed in his direction. The smug look morphed into a painful grimace, as Alex came to understand why the guy hadn’t stopped at the Walkers’ either.

Todd sent them here.

The doorbell sounded again, but this time it was a triple tap, signaling clearly to Alex that he was not the only one losing his patience with the situation.

He can ring the doorbell all day.

Just then, he heard Kate from the top of the stairs. “Jesus Christ, what is going on?” she yelled.

Alex hopped up from his crouched position and walked swiftly through the doorway leading to the foyer and started up the stairs. He saw Kate at the top in a thick white bathrobe, her wet hair spilling over her shoulders.

Alex cut her off with a wave of his hands and pointed at the door. Through the white curtains, he could see that the man outside was trying to peer through any possible opening in the curtains. Kate was startled by a sudden banging on the door, and Alex walked up the stairs to her.

“He’s been at it for a while. I saw him come straight here from Todd’s house,” he told her.

“That
asshole
,” she whispered.

“Yeah. Who knows what he’s telling them? But judging from this guy’s persistence, it isn’t good.”

The doorbell rang repeatedly.

“Hon, you’re gonna have to do something, or say something. We need a better plan than ignoring the doorbell,” she said.

“I know,” he said, with no clear plan forming.

“Just get rid of him. What if he thinks we’re not home and tries to break in later tonight?”

“I’m pretty sure he knows we’re home. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I’ll be right back.” He turned around to go downstairs and turned toward the kitchen. He planned to walk out of the mudroom door and address them from a distance. He reached behind the small of his back and patted the USP pistol tucked snugly into his blue jeans, pulled down on the back of his hunter green fleece to make sure the gun was concealed, and opened the inner mudroom door slowly and then the storm door. He stepped outside and eased the storm door shut without making a sound. He could still hear the doorbell continue to ring on the inside. He peeked around the corner and was immediately spotted by the young girl.

“Daddy, over there,” she yelled excitedly.

The man let go of the girl and jumped off the granite steps into a sea of evergreen bushes.

“Stop right there,” Alex barked, still keeping most of his body behind the cover of the house.

The man faltered as he struggled to push through the evergreens, but ultimately ignored Alex’s warning. His face pulsed red, and Alex saw a dangerous combination of persistence and vacancy in his bloodshot blue eyes.

“Shit,” Alex mumbled and stepped back to retreat inside the house.

The man hurled himself around the corner just as Alex finished locking the storm door. He took a few steps back into the mudroom, ready to shut the inner door if the guy tried to take down the storm door. If it went any further than that, Alex resolved to shoot the man dead.

I’ll leave the body there, too, as a deterrent. Maybe I’ll move it to the bottom of the driveway, with a sign.

While he processed this internal dialogue, the man put one hand on the door handle and the other on the glass, and Alex was suddenly sure that he’d have to shoot the man. So sure that his right hand moved behind his back to clear the shirt from the top of his pistol. Alex noted the worn Red Sox logo on the front of the man’s sweatshirt, which was now pressed against his storm door.

“Whoa! Red Sox! Take it easy! And get away from the door before you get hurt!” he yelled.

As if suddenly possessed by a little logic and reason, the man took his hands off the door and backed up a few steps, leaving a fresh fog mark from his breath on the storm door glass.

“Why the fuck didn’t you answer the door? I’ve been out here half the morning ringing that goddamn doorbell. What’s the matter with you?” he yelled out in a thick Boston accent.

“I just woke up, thanks to you. You need to move on. There’s nothing in this neighborhood for you,” Alex said forcefully.

“Bullshit, you just woke up. I saw you moving around in there from the start, and I know you got a ton of food and supplies. Your friend down the street said you’ve been handing out food,” he said, putting both hands on his hips and staring intensely at Alex.

I want to shoot him and leave him there for the others.

He shook the thought and moved his hand away from the gun. He didn’t want to kill this man, at least not yet, though everything was still moving in that direction.

The man’s daughter came around the corner, and Alex found himself once again fighting the urge to shoot the man dead on the mudroom stoop. The girl’s hair was matted and her face was filthy. Stark signs of neglect and abuse made it difficult to determine her age, though Alex guessed she was no older than Emily. Dark circles ringed her unfocused blue eyes, frighteningly contrasted by bright red rims. Alex’s eyes were immediately drawn away to a large bruise on her right cheek, and then another on her neck.

“Stay the fuck out of the way, Skyler,” the man said and stepped off the stoop to reach out and grab her. He missed, and Skyler retreated behind the front corner of the house. Not wanting to lose ground, he stepped back on the stoop under Alex’s murderous gaze.

“There’s nothing for you here. You need to leave now,” Alex said, shifting his gaze between the two of them and becoming more enraged every time he saw the girl’s condition.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere until you dig around…”

“You’ll be leaving right now,” Alex yelled in a controlled, forceful way.

The man was surprised by Alex’s sudden change, and a flash of genuine concern washed over his face. He paused and backed up a few steps without looking behind him. One more step and he’d topple off the stoop. Alex continued to stare at him with intense hatred. After a few seconds, the man turned around and stepped off the porch.

“Let’s go, you little bitch,” he roared at the girl. The man turned around and grinned, flashing crooked, nicotine-stained teeth. “Well, maybe we’ll be seeing more of each other. We could be neighbors soon,” he said with a jack-assed smile as he looked around the neighborhood.

The man turned around to leave, and Alex opened the storm door. “Hey, Red Sox!” Alex called and lowered his voice when the man turned back around. “If I see you around this house again, I’ll blow your fucking brains out of your head. Understand? The same deal goes for my friends’ houses.”

“Which ones are those?” the man said snidely.

“You won’t know until your brains hit the ground,” Alex said and closed the storm door. He shaped

his fingers like a gun and pointed them at the man. “Bang,” he mouthed silently, while the mock pistol in his hand recoiled. The man’s face went slack, and Alex smiled.

What am I, nuts?

Alex continued to grin as the man grabbed his daughter and hurried her back to the station wagon. They piled back in and the car lurched forward, picking up speed and passing the Fletchers’. Alex traced its progress around the block and watched as it left the neighborhood. He closed the door and went back to his post in the family room.

As soon as he slid the shutters open a few inches, he saw two more cars enter the neighborhood. He didn’t recognize either of them.
Newbies. Numbers 26 and 27.
He watched as they followed each other around to the other side of Durham Road, emerging from beyond the Thorntons’. One of the cars, a black Suburban, came to a halt in front of the McCarthys’ house, and the other, a dark blue domestic sedan, kept cruising down the street, eventually stopping in front of the Fullers’ house up near the turn.