Last Pandemic (Book 2): Escape The City Read online

  This was what life would be like. There was no other way.

  Judy shrugged to herself in the darkness and a smile formed on her lips.

  If that was what it took to survive, then that’s what it would take. What was the point of putting too much thought into it? She’d do what she had to do, when the time came.

  28

  Joe

  “You feeling okay?”

  “Yeah. I just stumbled. You sure this is the right way?”

  “Yeah. It’s the right way.”

  “I’m getting tired.”

  “Well, that’s normal. We’ve been walking all night.”

  Joe was exhausted himself. They’d barely stopped to rest the entire night.

  They hadn’t spoken much through the hours, but he had learned that the woman’s name was Alex.

  The sun wasn’t yet up and it was still dark. The clouds had moved and now there was some light coming from the moon and the stars. They could see their way more easily now.

  Alex somehow hadn’t been aware of the devastation that the virus was causing. She’d heard about it on the radio apparently, but had remained sheltered enough in her little adobe house to not have any idea what was happening.

  Before Joe had busted into her place, pursued by three men with guns, she hadn’t been aware of any of it. She hadn’t even been aware that the TV and radio stations had shut off, or that the internet wasn’t working.

  Sure, she’d noticed that the power had cut out. But that wasn’t that abnormal, she’d explained, and it usually came back on within a few hours.

  She’d gotten so lost in her books and making her sculptures that she’d just lost track of time.

  Joe knocking on her door had been a surprise. She didn’t get many visitors, which was just how she liked it. She was a professor of sculpture at a prominent East Coast university, looking to get away from it all, looking for a new start in New Mexico.

  Joe had met plenty of people like that before. New Mexico had, for a long while, been a magnet for all sorts of oddballs, misfits, and people looking for something different.

  They didn’t tend to last too long there.

  And she was no different.

  “You know,” she said, as they walked across the open land in the dark, heading toward the north, toward the Sangre de Cristo mountain range in the distance. “This is just crazy. I wasn’t even supposed to be here this month. It’s just that my plans fell through and the person buying my little casita didn’t want to move in until next month. So I figured I’d spend another month on my artwork and reading. You know?”

  “Fascinating,” said Joe, not meaning it in the least bit.

  He’d found that, as physically beautiful as she was, he could barely stand her. And his perception of beauty had completely changed. Her beauty had almost completely disappeared, as if it had just blown away in the slight desert winds that seemed to come and go with the hours.

  “If only I’d already moved,” she said. “I’d have been okay.”

  “You don’t think you’d have had any problems on the East Coast?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, as if the very suggestion was uncouth. “Not on the East Coast. Things are very orderly there.”

  “Is that right?” said Joe, not even knowing why he was bothering to respond. Maybe it was because he thought it would keep her quiet and, in the end, save them energy.

  While she continued to talk, Joe kept glancing over his shoulder to see if they were being followed. He didn’t think they were.

  Joe knew that by killing those men, he’d posed a serious threat. He also knew that he was doing just what the enemy wanted, which was fleeing his own land.

  Joe felt sick knowing that he was giving in. Physically sick to his stomach. Sick in his bones. He felt that he was a coward of the worst sort.

  What had all those years been for, if he wasn’t prepared now to defend his land?

  Nothing, that’s what.

  “Are you feeling weird?” she said.

  “Weird?” he said. “What could be weird about walking all night across the high desert with a stranger? Running for your life?”

  “Not that,” she said, speaking a little strangely. “I mean, physically.”

  “Physically?”

  It hit him all of a sudden. The thing that he’d pushed to the back of his mind. The thing that he shouldn’t have ignored.

  The virus.

  “Like my head feels all weird or something.”

  “Let me see your hands.”

  “My hands?”

  They were stopped now, facing each other in the moonlight. It was like the demented version of a romantic date. He took her hands in his and ran his fingers over the backs of them.

  The veins were enlarged. Hugely dilated.

  He could feel the veins with his fingers. Huge bumps that didn’t belong there.

  “You don’t know about the symptoms?”

  “Symptoms of what?”

  “Of the virus?”

  “The virus?”

  He looked into her eyes and saw that she truly didn’t know. Somehow, she’d managed to keep her head in the sand despite all the signs. Somehow, she was convinced that nothing bad could happen to her. After all, she couldn’t possibly believe she could deserve such a fate.

  But the virus didn’t care.

  There was reality and then there was what people thought reality was.

  As Richard Feynman said, there are no paradoxes in reality. There is only what you believe reality to be, and what reality really is. There’s a mismatch between belief and reality, but none between reality and reality.

  Joe should have felt rage.

  But he didn’t.

  He felt nothing. No growing anger. No frustration.

  Just peace. And despair. At the same time. Mixed feelings. A strange sensation.

  He was going to die. There was no way he wouldn’t, not unless he turned out to be one of the few naturally immune people.

  But, glancing down at his hands now, he saw that he wasn’t. He’d already caught it.

  “You have it too,” she said, running her delicate beautiful fingers across the backs of his hands.

  How had he missed it so far? He’d been so intent on getting away from her house, getting far away from his property and his pursuers that he’d completely ignored the risk of infection.

  He’d caught it from her.

  Was it her fault? No. It was his.

  He couldn’t blame her for his carelessness. So what if he was pursued by men with guns? So what if his friends had just been shot?

  Maybe if he hadn’t been distracted, however momentarily, by her stunning beauty, he would have remembered to take some precautions.

  Although probably not. As soon as she’d opened the door, he was likely already contaminated. Or infected. However you wanted to say it.

  “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” she said, her voice soft, almost melodious.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Well,” she said, not sounding in the least bit upset. “I guess that does it.”

  “Why aren’t you mad? Or upset?”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  As she spoke the words, he realized that it was true. All the anger and fear that he expected to feel simply wasn’t there. It wasn’t that he felt nothing, but that all the expected emotions were instead replaced by a sense of calmness.

  It was the calm that he’d felt all those years alone on his property, away from the cities and the chaos. It was the calm that he’d produced himself, by insisting on doing things his own way. It was the calm that resulted from being his own boss, from doing what made sense to him, and from working hard, without fail, through whatever obstacles came up.

  “How old are you?” she said.

  “That’s a strange question to ask a dying man,” he said.

  “How old, though? Really. Tell me.”

  She didn’t seem quite as snobby now. Maybe death rea
lly was the great equalizer, the factor that would eliminate feelings of resentment and pomposity.

  “Sixty,” he said.

  “Sixty?” She smiled at him, a big smile that revealed that all of her teeth were not beautiful and perfect, but that some had gone yellow over the years and she hadn’t had them fixed with a cosmetic procedure. “Me too.”

  “Really?”

  They fell into silence, smiling at each other, facing certain death. They sat down now, side by side, her hand found his and then they found themselves holding hands.

  It was the strongest sense of calm and well-being that Joe had felt in years.

  “I can’t remember the last time I felt this good,” he said.

  “Too bad it can’t last,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Nothing lasts,” he said.

  “Some things to do.”

  “I always thought I’d die alone.”

  “I’ve never thought about it. Not since my divorce.”

  For some reason, he laughed.

  And he didn’t stop. Not until she started throwing up.

  She simply leaned forward and projectile vomited.

  The vomit kept coming, for much longer than it should have.

  By the time she was done, there was blood on the ground. Blood mixed in with the vomit.

  She turned to him, apparently trying to apologize, but the words came out all mixed up. There was blood around her mouth, her nose, and her eyes. Blood that seemed to glow in the white moonlight.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her close to him.

  He wasn’t normally a person who did things like that. He’d always been a tough guy, not a compassionate guy who spoke soft words. But death was the ultimate test. The ultimate catalyst.

  Soon, he knew, he’d be hemorrhaging himself.

  They didn’t have long.

  29

  Marigold

  “Four of my men dead,” said Jacob, scowling in anger, which ran through his voice. “They’d better bring me his head on a pike before the day’s over.”

  “Don’t worry, baby,” said Marigold, slinging her arm across her husband’s lower back.

  She loved the way his back felt. Full of muscle. He was a powerful man, both mentally and physically; just the sort of man that she’d always been attracted to.

  She would have done anything to be with him. Fortunately, she hadn’t had to do that much. She’d picked him the way a bee picks a flower to pollinate.

  He was hers. Completely. Totally. She possessed him.

  He believed that he’d done it all. That he’d chosen her. That he’d pursued her, won her over, conquered her. But in reality, she’d been pulling the puppet strings all along. She’d laid the trap and he’d walked right into it.

  Much of the time these days, he believed he called the shots, but really she did. She worked behind the scenes. No one knew how much power she wielded, not even her husband. And she liked it that way.

  Of course, he was a man. And from time to time, his anger became a powerful force that even she could do nothing to combat.

  “They’re not hired hands, Jacob,” said Marigold. “They’re just people looking for a paycheck.”

  Jacob shook his head. “No,” he said. “Maybe that’s what they were at first. But they showed dedication. They were part of the family.”

  By family, he meant their economic family. He meant their little business.

  They were standing outside the little hovel that the former property owner had considered his home. It was a pathetic little building, basically nothing more than a hollow pile of rubble.

  Of course, that would all change. Jacob would build some proper buildings on the property. He’d get things in good order. It would soon be a habitable place. Not just a habitable place, but one of luxury, one where they could be content.

  Sure, Jacob had his own ideas about his use for the land. Business ideas. Ideas of profit.

  She’d convinced him otherwise. It always seemed to work out like that. He always felt like he was the one making the decisions, changing his own mind. And somehow, just somehow, it always managed to work out where he changed his mind to just what she’d wanted all along.

  She’d keep quiet for now and let things take their natural course, aided only by the slightest of suggestions and hints.

  The sun was rising over the mountains.

  “It looks beautiful, doesn’t it?” she said, squeezing her man tight.

  “I guess,” he grunted. Obviously he was too preoccupied with business prospects to worry about a sunrise.

  And that was the way it should be. That was the way she liked it. She liked having him do the heavy lifting, so to speak, while she got to sit back and enjoy the sunsets.

  He got to feel like he was in charge. He got to do all the work.

  The day passed and she hung back as Jacob busied himself with planning, ordering and barking commands at the underlings.

  Finally, after several hours had passed, a woman came to them, hands behind her back, respectful posture. “Sir, we’ve found him.”

  “Who?” barked Jacob.

  “Wasn’t it obvious?” thought Marigold to herself. But she said nothing. It wasn’t good to make Jacob feel like he was any stupider than he really was.

  And he wasn’t stupid, just perhaps not as intelligent as his female counterpart.

  “The landowner, sir,” said the female underling, her voice wavering, obviously unsure if she should say “landowner” or not, not knowing whether it would trigger a rage attack from Jacob or not.

  “Is he dead?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now fetch his body and tie it to the front gate. Upside down. I want people to see what they’re dealing with. I want them to feel the fear that they should feel. If you can manage to do that properly, we won’t have any more problems with usurpers.”

  “Sir...” The underling spoke nervously, sounding as if she might trip over her own words at any moment and tumble down into nonsensical babble. “He was killed by the virus.”

  “By the virus?” said Jacob, his words sounding hollow. He didn’t sound sure of himself.

  Silence hung in the air for a few long moments.

  “Do it,” barked Jacob. “I don’t care what killed him.”

  “But, sir, what about the risk?”

  “The risk?”

  “The risk of contamination. Infection.”

  “Wear gloves and masks,” barked Jacob. “That’s what we brought them for, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” said Marigold tenderly, tugging on Jacob’s hand in the light way she did when she wanted to convince him of something. “We should leave the body where it is. Why risk the possibility of infection? After all, it sounds like the masks and gloves weren’t enough for the healthcare workers. You saw the news before it went offline. They were getting infected left and right. In huge numbers.”

  “Nonsense,” barked Jacob. He was clearly mad. More mad than he usually was. Anger flowed through him. For whatever reason, he wasn’t going to listen to Marigold now.

  She had no sway over him. Not right now, at least.

  “Sir?”

  “Do it! String him up on the gate,” barked Jacob. “And be quick about it.”

  “There was a woman with him. Also dead from the virus, it looks like. Lots of hemorrhaging. Blood everywhere. We found them both several miles from the property’s edge.”

  “String her up too,” barked Jacob. “The more corpses, the better!”

  The underling gave a slight and very awkward bow and, looking nervous, turned on her heel and marched off toward her vehicle.

  “Make sure you wear those gloves and masks,” whispered Marigold to her.

  Soon, the underling’s truck was bouncing off across the open land, headed toward the mountains, toward the east where the sun was rising.

  Marigold knew from experience that it was better not to say, “You sure that’
s the right move, Jacob?”

  He wasn’t in the mood for it. Not now. Maybe later.

  She just hoped that they’d live until later.

  But she knew, even though it might be a matter of life and death, that there was no point in pushing her husband on this issue. She could control him, but only over long periods of time, only from a distance, as it were. For the small day-to-day decisions, she really had no say. He’d get angry and stubborn and stick with his decision even harder if she started to pry at him about it.

  It took the underling a long time to bring the body back. By the time she returned, the sun was almost at its zenith point in the sky, and the day had gotten significantly hotter.

  Jacob watched with eager anticipation as the pickup bumped its way toward them.

  “Jacob,” said Marigold, trying one more time. “You sure this is a good idea?”

  “Don’t start with me now, Mari,” snapped Jacob. “I’m not in the mood for...” He didn’t finish his sentence, leaving it open to interpretation. But, clearly, he wasn’t in a good mood. He wasn’t in the mood to be controlled. Not right now. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go watch.”

  “Watch as they string up bloody corpses? Are you serious?”

  “Why not? It’s just like signing a property deed. Don’t you see what this means? The property is ours.”

  “You go,” said Marigold. “I don’t want to see their faces. Not with all that blood.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Jacob, turning away from her, starting to walk in the direction of the front gate, following the path of the pickup.

  “Be careful!” she called out after him. “Wear your mask!”

  He held the mask up toward the sky as proof that he had it with him, but he didn’t turn his head around.

  Marigold found herself alone, with only the company of the underling workers. And they knew very well that it was prudent to keep their distance from her. They’d been hired on plenty of other projects and she’d shown them her true nature more than once.