Prepper's Sacrifice (11 page)

‘Fuck,’ he exclaimed, holding onto the table for support, finally stabilizing himself once he’d managed to catch his breath.

‘Guys, guys. Hey, get back,’ he yelled at two men who were seconds away from placing their feet on the greenness of his front yard. ‘We’re not open today.’

‘Come on man, that’s bullshit. You know how long it took for us to get here?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, trying hard to look the man who spoke in the eyes but finding it difficult not to glance at the shed every two seconds. ‘We’re out of supplies,’ he lied.

‘Out of supplies? We don’t need much, just…’

‘I said we’re out of supplies.’ The frustration in Stewart’s voice grew deeper. ‘Now,’ he addressed the entire crowd, ‘if everyone would just back the hell up, it would be greatly appreciated.’

‘What’s that?’ A concerned voice chimed in.

‘What’s what?’ Stewart answered before hearing a whimper coming from the direction of the shed.

‘Sounds like someone’s crying. I’m pretty sure it’s coming from…’

‘Listen, lady, I don’t know what you think you’re hearing but I would really appreciated it if EVERYBODY, proceeded to removing themselves from in front of my home. I said we’ve got nothing else to give and that’s that.’

This, of course, didn’t stop the crowd. And even worse, it didn’t stop Joseph and Derrick from trying to get attention. Lost between the decision of staying and forcing everyone to leave or raising their suspicious even higher by heading to the shed, the confusion on Stewart’s face wasn’t to decipher.

‘I just say we rush in there and show him how small his army is compared to ours,’ one man roared.

‘I heard they’ve got booby traps all over the house and that their stockpiles hidden in a gigantic safe,’ said another.

‘That’s right,’ Stewart agreed, happy for the suggestions that the crowd was throwing at him. ‘One step in that house and you’ll never make it out alive.’

‘I say we try anyways,’ came the same voice that had inserted the idea of breaking in.

‘What the hell are y’all getting so loud for?’ A familiar voice both chilled Stewart’s bones and calmed his nerves at the same time. ‘The man said
leave
, and if one of you steps any closer, I’ll blow your brains all over this place.’

Decked out in his hazmat suit and with a gun pointed straight at the crowd, Tim was the scariest Stewart had ever seen him.

‘Oh wow, there’s two of you.' A boisterous man stepped forward.

‘Yeah, there’s two of us but my guess is that none of you have got either the balls or the bullets to defeat us. Now,’ Tim moved closer to the man, ‘I think I’ll just keep you as my little token. How does that sounds? Unless you’ve got a gun that you’re willing to put up against mine.’

As the words fell from Tim’s mouth, Stewart’s jaw dropped wider and wider. He’d seen the tough façade that Tim had put up over the past few weeks, but it was nowhere close to what he was seeing right now.

‘So somebody tell me,’ Tim continued. ‘Which one of you wants to be the reason that this handsome fellow over here loses half his head?’

Stewart glanced around the crowd to see that they too, had their jaws dropped just as low as he did. No one answered. No one moved. No one breathed.

‘So I’ll take it that none of you lovely people here wants to be responsible for his funeral. Is that right?’

The crowd kept its silence.

‘Let me explain something to you all. This is how it’s gonna go from now on. Someone tries to make their way over this fence and someone gets killed. It’s you’re decision if that happens. I’m holding the gun, but you’re pulling the trigger. Understood.’ Tim didn’t wait for an answer. ‘No, as a matter of fact, each and every one of you needs to turn around and go home this second.’

Bit by bit, the masses of people vanished from in front of Stewart’s yard. Once the last person was a considerable distance away, Tim let himself in.

‘Tim.’ Stewart said, searching for words.

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘Tim. Once this is all over, I’ll have to move. I’ll never live down being the mafia king of the neighborhood.’

‘Once this is over, half of these people won’t be here to tell the tale. It’s a sad fact, but I’d say it’s pretty darn accurate. You know how many people are left in my building?’

Stewart smoothed his hand over the stubble on his chin. ‘No,’ he answered.

‘Well, there’s me and there’s Nadine. I’ve got to sleep by the freaking door with my gun pointed at the peephole. Have you flicked on the TV lately?’

‘No,’ Stewart shook his head.

‘Well, that’s great, because there aren’t any news reporters left or maybe they’re just not showing up for work. When you drive past the hospital it looks like they’re handing out winning lottery tickets and everyone wants in. People are dying Stewy. They’re dropping like…’

‘Flies,’ Stewart chimed in.

‘Nah, much faster than that. So your little situation here that you’re getting all riled up about, it’s nothing compared to what’s really going on. Your damn house is just too far out for people to get to, that’s the only reason you see fifty and not five thousand people on a daily basis. People in this neighborhood and the one’s close by have either ran out of ammo or are anti-gun and that’s why you still have people showing up with baseball bats rather than blowing your house to bits.’ ‘I killed a man, Tim,’ Stewart whispered after checking to see that no one was close enough to hear him.

‘You defended you family, Stewy. There’s a very big difference.’

Stewart didn’t feel as though these two things were different. Even if they were, it didn't help to shadow the fact that he had two people boiling in his shed.

‘Where are the others?’ Tim squinted, trying to see inside the house.

‘In the…’

‘Oh, okay. Cuz I was just about to tell you that you’ve lost your mind to still have them in your home.’

‘Tim,’ Stewart grabbed his arm, preventing him from marching to the shed. ‘There’s something else.’

‘Something else?’

‘One of em’s sick.’

‘Like
sick
sick?’

‘Like about to puke his guts out sick.’

‘You’ve got to get him out of here, Stewy. There’s no room for that. Not in your house. Not in your shed. Not in your freaking sewers, for crying out loud.’

Stewarts mind eventually floated to Anne and though he knew there was a small chance that she could hear him, it was a chance that he wasn’t willing to take. And then, he realized that he hadn’t seen her when he went inside; before he’d noticed all those people lined up in front of his home.

‘Tim, I’ve got to talk to Anne.’

‘You mean you didn’t tell her?’

Stewart pressed his lips together as though trying not to admit that he didn’t mention what was going on to his wife.

‘No,’ Tim interjected before Stewart could speak. ‘That’s a good thing. She doesn’t need to know about this.’

‘But.’

‘No buts, Stewy. All you’ll do is get her fearful for no reason. I’m here. Let me help you to take care of this.'

Bobbing his head in agreement, Stewart said, ‘I sure how you’ve got a great plan.’

‘First, let me take a look at these two.’

Over to the shed the walked. Tim was a few paces ahead of Stewart, fiddling with the keys in his pocket. Shutting the door to the shed earlier in a very small way, helped Stewart to shut the image of Joseph out of his head. However, in seconds he would be handing over the keys and opening that box of dread all over again.

‘We haven’t got all day.’ Tim reached out his gloved hands. Stewart responded by taking the keys out of his pocket and pressing them into Tim’s palm.

He watched as Tim stared at the keys, deciding which one would fit the lock. Stewart hoped he would have tried every key. At least that way, he’d buy himself a little time before he needed to see or speak to the men again.

‘Holy hell!’ Tim shrieked, backing up into Stewart.

‘Shhh.’ Stewart warned. ‘You’re gonna have Anne running out any time soon if you keep going on like that.’

Stewart turned his head slightly to see that the majority of flooring in front of Joseph was covered in a mixture of vomit and blood. ‘I’ll… I’ll..’

‘Yeah, you do that. Go make sure Anne doesn’t come out here,’ Tim finished.

***

Back in the house, Stewart searched around for his wife.

‘Anne, where the hell are you?’ he called out, leaping up one stair and then another.

To the left, Stewart saw a light shining out from underneath the bathroom door. He clenched his fist and pounded lightly. ‘You in there, honey?’

‘Yeah. Just a minute.’

‘Are you okay?’ Stewart was growing concerned. Had Anne been in the bathroom the entire time? She seemed so strong when she had spoken with him the previous night. Telling him he did what he had to do and that he she didn’t see him as an evil person because of it.

‘Oh, you know,’ Anne replied very calmly. ‘I’m just running a hot bath, trying to forget about everything.’

‘But you’re okay? I mean, you’re not crying or depressed or anything, are you?’

‘I can’t say that I’m overjoyed,’ she maintained her calm demeanor, ‘but I’m okay, I promise.’

The tone in her voice pacified Stewart's fears that she was having some form of a mental breakdown or that she was in some way angry at him. ‘Well. I just wanted to let you know that Tim’s here and we’re figuring things out.’

‘That’s great. I mean it’s not great that you have things to figure out, but it’s great that…’

‘I know what you mean honey. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Okay?’

‘Thanks, dear.’

***

Anne watched from the kitchen as Stewart and Tim chatted the afternoon away on the sofa. Though they’d told her that Tim had brought the men as far out into the city as he could manage, something told her they weren’t telling the whole story. Deep down, she believed they’d taken them to the woods, not too far away, and relieved them of the life they weren’t ready to lose- the life they came fighting to keep by breaking into her home. Though she’d thought about throwing a fit, questioning them until they finally told what she believed to be the truth, she knew she was better off not knowing. Tim had toughened up quite a bit from the first time she’d met him and it was easier to live with the thought that he had been the one to take care of the men. Prying for the truth, might have meant learning that Stewart pulled another trigger. This was something that she was, by no means prepared to deal with.

Chapter 12

Five days went by. Five days of torture and turmoil for Anne. Inside the bathroom, she placed the handheld mirror on the counter. She’d been using it, in combination with the full sized bathroom mirror, to get a better look at her wound. Though she mostly felt fine, there was no fighting the feeling that something was wrong. Her muscles ached, but not in a debilitating manner. This could have very well come from pushing around furniture or overexerting herself in some other way. It took all her willpower to refrain from sticking the thermometer that lay before her, underneath her armpit. For the past few days, she’d been keeping her distance from Stewart and at times, that called for her to be harsh. She hated every minute of turning her husband away; every minute where she was fighting the urge to introduce him to the secret she’d been keeping for way too long. But now, sitting in the bathroom, denying symptoms that she knew existed, it felt like the right time to just get it over with and stop speculating. She lifted her arm, pursed her lips as her eyes caught a glimpse of her scar. The coldness of the thermometer stung as it made contact with her skin. Before turning it on, she ran the tap, just to tune out the beeping that would sound when the thermometer had done its job.

The seconds felt like hours as she waited. Finally, a series of beeping, ever so quietly, caused her to jump in fright. With her eyes closed, she whispered a small prayer, before plucking the thermometer from under her pits and mouthing ‘forty’. Her cheeks dampened with tears as the words left her lips. Maybe she was getting the flu like her coworker did. Maybe she was just stressed. Again, she tucked the thermometer under her armpit, only to find that the temperature stayed consistent.

Tapping on the door caused her to jump yet again.

‘Just leave me alone, Stewy,’ she barked. ‘Leave me alone for crying out loud.’

‘Something’s wrong, Anne. Just tell me what it is. Just talk to me,’ he pleaded.

She knew that she couldn’t hide forever. The bathroom door was just a temporary barrier between her and her husband; between her and a reality she wasn’t ready to face. But how could she tell him? How could she let him know that the mouth he once kissed was a mouth he needed to resist?

‘Anne,’ came his voice softer and sweeter this time. ‘Anne.’

‘Stewy.’ She pressed her palms against the door, and smoothed her fingers over its ridges the way she usually did to Stewart’s palms. ‘Stewy, I’m…’

‘I know, sweetie.’ Her eyes widened as the words penetrated her ears. What did he know? How did he know?  ‘You’re mad at me. You’re mad at me for something and I don’t know what it is but I promise you, I can fix it.’

A sigh of relief escaped her, only to be washed away by the certainty of what was going on.

‘I’m sick, Stewy. I’m…’ Her voice faded, replaced by a series of sobs.

She could hear Stewart on the other end of the door. He was overcome with denial, just as she had been in the past few days. ‘No, no, no’,’ he repeated over and over again.

With her back now against the door, Anne slid down, seating herself on the floor. A cold tingled its way across the back of her legs as they came in contact with the pearly white tiles. It was cold that she truly appreciated- one that allowed her, for a millisecond, to forget.

‘I need to see you, Anne. You need to open this door so that I can look into your eyes and see that you’re okay. You’ve got to be okay. There’s nothing left in this world for me.’

Anne wanted so badly to reach up and unlock the door but she knew that Stewart needed a few minutes to calm himself down. She was certain that if she’d pried the door open in that instance, he would come diving in with open arms, ready to embrace each section of her body. She knew that he would smother her with kisses, that he’d have his lips pressed so hard against her cheeks that each tear would land on them.

A part of her was saddened to think that he didn’t protest to her being sick, at least not as much as she’d expected him to.

‘Let me in Anne,’ he begged.

‘I’ll only open the door if you promise to keep your distance,’ she mustered up the courage to say.

Once Stewart had agreed, Anne propped the door open, just enough for her to get a good look at her husband’s face.

‘Anne, I’ve got to tell you something.’ His mouth quivered excessively. ‘It’s about what really happened to those guys. What we really did with them.’

Anne insisted that she didn’t want to hear a word of it. In the event that she didn’t make it through this virus; that she wasn’t able to get better, the last thing she wanted hear was that her husband killed anyone else.

‘I’ve got to tell you Anne. I’ve got to tell you.’

Anne closed her eyes tightly, trying to think of happier moments; trying to tune out her husband’s wails.

‘Anne, I…’ he said again, more firmly this time.