The World's End Series Book One: Dymond's World (20 page)

Dymond woke and was amazed at the silence.  In their apartment, there was always noise - people shouting, kids running up and down the hallways, cars coming and going out of the parking lots.

Patti's house was only a few blocks away, but it was like it was in another world.  It wasn't an example of upper middle class suburbia; in fact it was likely several rungs on the ladder lower than that.  But the house stood on its own lot, shaded by its own trees.  For Dy, it offered
space
, somewhere special where she could just lie in bed and let her thoughts roam without being distracted by the intrusive sounds of people who lived only one wall's thickness away.

Today she thought about Fallon.  He had spent last night in Patti's room and Dy had heard them making love.  It sounded energetic, like they were both trying to squeeze every last ounce out of their passion.  She supposed that was because Patti had gone so long without real intimacy - and without real love.  She and Patti had exchanged their stories.  They understood each other now - they understood just how alike they were.

Patti's house had two bedrooms.  Fallon insisted that Dy and Patti each have one as their own.  He would sleep on the couch or with one of them if they all agreed.  Two nights ago, he'd been with her.  Their lovemaking was slow and liquid.  He was so respectful of her body, so patient.  He touched her gently, asking her what she wanted and bringing her slowly along until her orgasm exploded almost without her knowing it was coming.

She could smell him in the sheets right now.  She wondered how long it would be until Fallon again had them both at once.  She was surprised to find herself looking forward to it.  She resolved to ask Patti what she thought.

Her next thoughts were about Fallon and God.  He'd told her all about how God used to look down on him and laugh.  He'd told her about how that stopped on the day he found her.  He used the word "found", but Dy always thought of that day as the day he rescued her.  Things had gotten better for both of them after that day.  Dy thought that Fallon's rescue of Patti would also be approved of by God.

And if God and Fallon approved, she did too.

***

The three of them walked slightly over a mile from Patti's house to the church.  It had become their habit to arrive at mid-morning and volunteer for a few hours each day.

Today was going to be busy.  Normally, they cooked and served a midday meal to all comers in the church's kitchen.  They distributed coats and blankets donated by those who had extras to those who had none. They attended an afternoon service led by Minister Phil.  They prayed; Dy for Fallon and Patti and, she was almost sure, them for her.

Today was going to be different because they had heard that the army would drop off emergency rations.  They were told to expect about one thousand individual meals.  It was a Godsend - while they were not yet short on supplies, stores had been looted and it appeared unlikely that any of them would get normal shipments anytime soon.  Their original plan had been to hold the army rations in reserve, but they were told to go ahead and give one to each person because there was a flu vaccination device in it.  Yesterday, Dy had heard the military commander talk to Minister Foster and Mr. Jones, and he was insistent that everyone get vaccinated.  That made sense to her with the days getting colder.

Two large green trucks were at the church when they arrived.  A larger than normal crowd was outside, watching soldiers unload boxes.  As Dy walked by, she caught one of the young soldiers looking at her.  She smiled at him and he smiled back.  He coughed and went back to work.

"I hope they have some son of bitching propane," said Patti.  "We're almost out."

"Damn!" she added.  "My damned mouth."  She had told Dy and Fallon that she was going to try and not curse when they were on church property.  "Maybe I can break the habit.  Probably fucking not, but you never know."

Dy and Patti put on aprons and went to help out in the kitchen.  Fallon sought out Clarence Jones.  "Need any help unloading, Clarence?"  Dy still called him Mr. Jones because he had been her boss, but everyone else called him by his first name.

"Don't think so.  They have thirty cartons of thirty six meals, so the unloading goes pretty quickly.  They asked if we'd hand out the boxes to the people who are waiting and tell them to be sure and use the vaccine.  They said they would stand guard while we did."

Fallon didn't understand.  "Stand guard?"

"Yeah, in other places, there's been almost a riot - people shoving and pushing; trying to grab whole cases and run off with them.  I don't think that could happen here, though."

Fallon thought about the fires in his own apartment building and wasn't so sure.

***

The afternoon went as planned.  The boxes got distributed in an orderly fashion with the soldiers standing watch, their rifles carried casually, but quite visibly.  The minister personally handed out most of them, especially to the Spanish speaking people.  He was fluent enough in the language to tell them the importance of taking the vaccine.  Most left with their box, using the inhaler as they walked.

A hot lunch was served.  It took less than an hour to distribute all they had prepared as people were starting to run out of their own supplies and more were coming to the church for a meal.  Dy heard Mr. Jones tell the army man how thankful he was they were going to return with many more of the ration boxes.

After the short afternoon service, Patti, Dy and Fallon prepared to leave.  The skies were grey and flakes of snow fell intermittently.  Minister Foster cut them off.  "Don't tell me you three are leaving without your boxes.  I saved these for you."  He reached behind his lectern and handed them each a box.

Fallon said, "We really don't need these.  We've got enough food at home for now.  Save them for later."

Phil Foster smiled.  He had no idea how this trio had ended up together, but the blackout had changed many things.  Certainly it wasn't up to him to judge them, except to be thankful for all they did.  He wished more people in the neighborhood would give of themselves the way Dymond and Patti and Fallon did.

"I understand, but at least take the flu vaccine.  I can't have my best volunteers getting sick, can I?"

They sat on a pew with Fallon in the middle and opened the boxes.  They had all seen people using the inhaler, so all three of them removed theirs from the box.  Patti and Dy put theirs up to their nose.  They started to push the plunger . . .

Fallon's hands gripped both of theirs and pulled them down, away from their noses.  Patti started to say "Shit!" when she felt the strength of his grip.  She could tell he wasn't playing.

"Wait!  Look at this."  He took out the instruction sheet and passed it to them.  On it was a handwritten note.  It said, ""Do NOT use Flu Inhaler!!!  It contains REAL flu and will kill MANY who use it.  This is their PLAN!!!  Stay away from people who get sick!"

Dymond looked across at Patti, "Did you . . . ?"

"No, Fallon stopped me in time."

Dy nodded in relief, "Me too."  Now she looked at the minister.  "This can't be right, can it?"

The look on his face was one of anguish.  "I . . . I made sure hundreds of people used it.  I used it myself.  It's got to be a joke, a sick joke.  I don't believe it - I just can't."

Two of the soldiers came into the chapel to tell him they were leaving.  As they walked away, both of them coughed.

After three days in the little trailer, Jason was starting to go stir crazy.  The single box of food was gone as well as over half of the canned goods he'd found in the trailer's tiny pantry.  It was time to leave - either that or learn to fish.

And while fishing might keep him alive, it would not get him back to where he could take his revenge on Regina, her father and everyone else who had betrayed him.  He had to get going.  The creature inside him, his anger, was getting impatient.  It told him that now was the time.

There was an older motorcycle under a tarp outside the trailer, but the tank was bone dry.  Jason walked up the path to the road and turned left, heading towards the commuter parking lot.

As before, it was empty, but from the trailer he'd heard cars or trucks passing by every hour or two.  As Regina had expected, around half the cars and trucks had survived the EMP burst and were drivable.  The lack of gasoline and the flu would put an end to that soon enough.

Jason had wrapped himself in a blanket since he didn't have a proper coat - another insult he would pay Regina back for a thousand fold.  He saw himself stranding her in the desert, naked, the sand burning her bare feet, having to drink her own urine.  The blanket kept him warm, but his anger did too.

By midday, the temperatures were obviously above freezing.  Little patches of snow that had stuck to the roadway started to melt in the sun. 
At least man won't be pumping carbon into the atmosphere in giant quantities anymore.
  He felt some satisfaction that global warming would probably now start to reverse itself; and then he felt fear of the cold that surrounded him.

He knew that, especially for him, tough times were likely ahead.  But he also knew that it would be worth it.  It would be worth it to have the world rid of its writhing and all-consuming mass of humans - maggots feeding mindlessly on the Earth.  And it would be worth it to reduce the number of survivors - the .01% who would populate the new world - it would be great to reduce that number by one; specifically, one whose name implied she would be the queen of the world - Regina.

His anger flared again as he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle.  He ran out into the center of the road and waited, the sound of it getting louder by the second.  A pickup truck appeared around a bend in the road and instantly started to slow as the driver saw a cloaked figure in the road.  Jason realized he should have removed the blanket - he must look like a crazy man.

But crazy or not, the truck stopped and the window rolled down unevenly - a sign that it was being manually cranked by the driver.  Jason realized the truck was old.

"Standin' in the road is a good way to get yourself run over."  It was a woman.  She looked short and had gray hair and wore large square glasses.

"I just need a ride.  I didn't know if you'd stop . . . If you'd see me if I was off to the side."

She was only about ten feet away.  Jason calculated that he could rush her and pull her out of the truck before she could drive off, but she made no attempt to leave.  "Where you headin'?"

He pushed the idea of rushing her out of his mind.  It would not be necessary.  He smiled at the old woman, "I'd like to get to town, ma'am, but anywhere is likely to be better than being stuck out here."

She smiled back at him.  "I guess it would at that.  I'm heading to town.  Go ahead, climb on in."

***

His knees were almost against the dashboard because she had the single bench seat racked so far forward.  She was short, barely able to work the manual clutch.  Jason noted that the tank was slightly over half full.  He considered taking the truck, but he wasn't sure it would be up to any longer trip and besides, he didn't know how to drive a stick shift.

She had the heater going full blast so that he was suddenly hot.  He rolled down the window slightly.

"Where is your head, young man?  We'll both catch our death of cold if you don't close that window."

Jason frowned and did as he was told.  "If you don't mind me asking, where are we heading?"

She shook her head like it was the dumbest question she ever heard.  "Going to the drugstore, down near Homewood.  My husband is about out of his heart medicine.  We got two neighbors within sight and I'd normally ask one of them, but they're farmers and are off somewhere for Christmas.  Won't be back for a few more days, I think."

Now Jason was confused.  "Ma'am, didn't . . . didn't your power go out?"

"Yes, it did.  And the phones too.  Sometimes it happens when you live in hilly country.  A tree falls and takes down the lines.  Usually back up quicker than this, though.  Lucky for us we heat with oil and have lots of old oil lamps, even an old wood stove out in the shed.  Just got a delivery of oil a few days ago - almost five hundred gallons.  Going to cost a fortune when that bill comes."

Maybe she was lucky and maybe she wasn't.  Jason concentrated on that tank of oil waiting for him a few miles back.  He pictured it in his mind as he tried to fit it into the puzzle that was his plan for revenge.  No matter how he tried, it didn't fit.  It was a precious cache of energy in a dark world, but it wouldn't help him.  She was lucky, after all.  If she made it back home, that oil would keep her warm and that bill would never arrive.

He needed to know more about where he was.  All he knew right now was that he'd been dropped off somewhere near Pittsburgh.  "This pharmacy near Homewood - how far is that from Pittsburgh?"

She moved her head to study him.  Jason saw the truck start to drift towards the center line.  "You're not from around here, are you?"  She turned back to the road and corrected her path, "Homewood is in Pittsburgh.  It's right on the edge of the real built up area.  Used to be real nice, but now a lot of riff-raff moved in.  The pharmacy used to be run by old man Wilton, but now it's one of them big chains and all the pharmacists are young girls - most of them don't even look twenty."

"You wouldn't have a map would you?"

"Maybe.  Look in that glove compartment.  Used to be one in there, I think."

The door opened with a squeak.  There was an actual pair of gloves in the box along with her registration and insurance papers. 
You won't be forced to go stand in line at the DMV ever again.

There was also a poorly refolded map.  It said "Official Highway Map, State of Pennsylvania."

"Picked that up at a rest stop on the turnpike a few years ago when we drove to Philadelphia.  That place is a mess."

"I'm sure it is," said Jason, studying.  He found "Homewood" on the blown up insert showing Pittsburgh.  From there it was easy to plot a course to Harrisburg and I-81 heading south.  He knew that, by next summer, he needed to be in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.  That's where he'd arrange to surprise her highness.  He started to fantasize about what he would do to her, but pushed that away.  It wasn't time yet.

The countryside gave way to suburbs that seemed to be relatively nice - newer houses, well maintained.

But that quickly changed as apartments and strip malls, banks and fast food places started to appear and then to dominate the area.  They seemed to all be closed.  One shopping center had a state liquor store with a shattered window.  The dollar store beside it appeared to be intact.

Ahead was a barrier with a sign that said, "Road Closed."  There was no indication of a detour or of why the road was closed.  They pulled into the parking lot of the strip center and stopped.

She turned to him, "I guess I forgot my manners.  It can happen living without a lot of other people around.  I'm Mrs. John Wright, Edna."  She put out her hand to shake.  It was white with blue veins.  Jason shook it.

"Ma'am, I'm Jason Mc . . . McDonald.  Glad to meet you."

She smiled, "Jason, I have a favor to ask.  I was going to go through the drive in, but with the road closed, I can't get to it.  The pharmacy is right over there," she pointed, "In the next block.  Would you mind taking the prescription and getting it filled for me?  I hadn't planned on walking and my left leg just isn't up to it.  I've got rheumatism - hurts awful bad to walk far."

Fleetingly, he once again considered taking the truck but it wouldn't even make it half way on the turnpike with the gas it had.  "Sure, Edna.  I'll do that for you."  He planned on walking in the direction of the pharmacy and then going on his way.

"Now, please be careful, Mr. McDonald.  Those girls will try to give you generic but I only want the real thing - it's Zestril.  It costs more, but the generic stuff must be made in China - the last time they gave my husband that stuff it almost killed him."

She reached in her purse and brought out five twenties and the prescription script.  "It should be about $95.  You keep the rest, Mr. McDonald."

She really was too much; trusting him to go out of his way for her.  She'd learn a valuable lesson today.

He opened the door and put the money and script in his pants pocket.  Right now he was plenty warm, but soon he'd need to find a coat.  He told her he'd be back and walked off.

***

As Jason turned the corner, he saw the pharmacy.  There was a woman dressed in white seated behind a table outside the door.  A group of three people were gathered in front of the table.

As he approached, he could hear the woman talking.  She was speaking to the people in line in Spanish.  Jason knew enough to tell that she was instructing them on how to take their medicines.  She handed each person a bag.  Each of them responded with "Gracias" as they left.

Jason stepped up to the table.  The woman looked him over, deciding English was needed.  "What can I do for you?"  She asked.  Her voice had a slight disapproving tone.

Jason studied her the way he normally did women - first the lips, then the rest of the face; the placement of the eyes, the color of the hair and the eyebrows.  This one was a little chubby in the cheeks, but she otherwise passed this test.  Next, he would normally appraise the rack, but there was no need.  She was probably fifteen pounds overweight and a good part of that was in the boob department.  She had dark hair with a streak of red in it that fell over her shoulders.  Her full lips were a dark shade of red.

He was always careful not to stare; some women resented that, but some of them liked it.  This one looked like the resenting type.

"I . . . I'm surprised you are, you know, working."

She looked at him like she suspected he had been appraising her.  Her tone was abrupt.  "People still need their meds, power or no power."

He handed her the prescription almost without thinking.  She studied it and then studied him.  "You're picking this up for Mr. Wright?"

Jason almost forgot about the old woman and her sick husband.  "Yeah, his wife is in the truck over in the shopping center, but she can't walk easily, so she asked me to . . ."

She cut him off.  "Fine.  Do your good deed for the day while it’s early."

Before he knew what to make of that remark, she said, "I'll get you a bottle of Lisinopril."

"Uh . . . Mrs. Wright . . . she was insistent that it not be generic.  She wants real Zestril."

The woman looked at Jason like she was trying to decide something.  She seemed to frown slightly, "Okay, then.  Zestril it is."

She rose and disappeared inside and returned a couple of minutes later with a large bottle.  Jason noticed she was tall and had wide hips.

"That'll be $145.  And how will you paying for that?"

Her tone was challenging.  Jason realized her lips were moist even in the cool air.  He wondered what her hair smelled like.

He opened his wallet and started to extract his American Express Centurion Card, but changed his mind.  It had his real name on it.  This woman had probably never heard of Jason McCrae, but there was no need to take a chance.  Instead, he reached in his wallet and pulled out three fifties.  He still had a bunch of big bills that were likely now useless.

He laid the money on the table while the woman stared first at it, then at him.  “I don’t have change,” she said.

Jason smiled at her.  “Ah . . . that’s okay, you can keep it.”

She frowned and picked up a pen.  “Sign here saying you are authorized to pick up this prescription.  Normally, I’d want to talk to Mrs. Wright, but I guess you are okay.”  She studied his signature as he signed, adding, “Mr. McDonald.”

Jason smiled at her.  Few people appeared to be out doing anything, but here she was, on the job.  "How about we give Mr. Wright double his normal prescription?  His wife might not be able to get back to town for a while.  You don't mind, do you," he read the name tag on her tunic, "Ms. Hernandez?"  Jason took the three fifties back and replaced them with three hundreds.

She shook out pills onto a pill sorting tray, dispensing them twenty at a time into a smaller bottle marked with the name of the pharmacy.  "I suppose you can afford them, Mr. McDonald.  I don't think there will be a lot of demand for this, so sure, I'll give her a four month supply."

She finished filling the bottle and put it in a white bag and stapled it shut.  “Where can we reach you to return your change?"

Jason grinned.  She really was a pip.  "I just got into town.  Don't really have a place to stay - don't even have a coat.  Any suggestions . . . Ms. Hernandez?"