End Days Super Boxset (92 page)

As a result, the HOA President locked everything up, and residents volunteered as armed guards working in shifts. By the second month, suspicions grew within the community about who was responsible for the pilfering. And of course, there were suspicions about certain families who had not donated their “fair share” to be distributed throughout the community.

Even after security measures were put in place, they didn’t have much left of anything. Certainly not enough food for the long haul. The lack of power and running water proved detrimental, and certain rifts were forming throughout the community, caused by sheer desperation.

Theories abounded about the reasons for the loss of power and utilities. Many believed that the government had pulled the switch to force residents from their homes and into official quarantine zones. Others simply believed it to be signs of the end times. John observed as his community began to tear apart at the seams after only two short weeks. During a particularly impassioned town meeting, he presented the idea of venturing beyond the gates for supplies.

“Who is going to do something like that? With that disease out there, you can count me out!” a pudgy retired man shouted in the dark, crowded room.

“I’ll do it,” John said. “I’m light on my feet.”

“But you’re only one person,” a curly-haired, middle-aged woman said. “How are you going to carry enough supplies back with you for the entire community?”

“I didn’t say that I would be doing that. I’ll see what it’s like out there and where we can go to get supplies. I’ll be your scout.”

The residents nodded and agreed, and they soon began to admire the quiet, single man who lived among them, a man they knew little about. He gave them hope, and for a moment, they forgot about all their suspicions and animosity toward each other. There was still a chance that they could make it, and John was showing them the way.

***

When he returned late in the afternoon, John hoped that his lengthy absence hadn’t allowed the community to resort to their old ways. He hoped that he wasn’t going to find them all dead after turning on one another. He had a new plan. It was cynical, but there was no denying the reality of the way things were. He would encourage them to turn all their rage, doubt, and fear on an outsider, and in the process take the supplies they needed. John presumed that he had stumbled upon the house of a prepper, and if he knew preppers, he knew they had more than what they needed.

The loss of water was especially difficult for the community as the residents struggled to maintain good hygiene practices. It only multiplied their fears of germs, infection, and disease. Who among them wasn’t staying clean? Who among them could be a potential carrier? After being gone for two whole days, John felt he was arriving at just the right time. The entrance gate was closed and locked with a chain and padlock. The giant “No Solicitors” sign over the gate made John chuckle. Some things never changed.

He called out to Hector, one of the volunteer guards who was sitting in a folding chair under the shade of a large tree inside the gate. Hector fumbled with his rifle and jumped out of his chair. He squinted between the iron bars and saw John standing there.

“Well, holy shit. Look who’s back! John Elliot in the flesh!”

“Pleasure to see you too, Hector.”

The man went to the gate, holding a large key ring in his hand. He was wearing shorts and flip-flops, and his shirt was unbuttoned and open, revealing a tan chest. He looked as if he was ready to go to the beach, or was at least pretending he was there. He unlocked the gate and pulled one side open, letting John enter.

“What’d you bring us back?” Hector asked.

“News of the outside world,” he said, removing his surgical mask. He took some steps forward, and Hector stopped him while backing away.

“Hold on there. You know the rules. Doc’s gonna have to check you out before you go walking around in here. As you know, there’s a lot of scared folks around here.”

John stopped and sighed. “Yeah, I get it. They haven’t all killed each other yet, have they?”

Hector laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, they’re close.” He turned to face the winding road that led into the blocks of homes packed closely together on each street, so close that one yard seamlessly spread into the other. “You wait here and I’ll go get the doc,” he said, running off with his flip-flops slapping against the road.

Dr. Winsted, or “Doc,” was the resident MD of the community, and his presence and expertise provided the people much comfort amid their Ebola fears. He knew the signs and symptoms of the disease fairly well, even given its mutation, and was on call for most of the day to check anyone who expressed so much as complaints of a headache.

Dr. Winsted, a quiet man with thick gray hair and light stubble on his wrinkled face, eventually met John at the gate, wearing a medical garment, face mask, and hood. He didn’t appear to be taking any chances.

“Everyone is so excited that you’re back,” he said to John while shining a light in his eyes. “You’re quite the celebrity here. They’ve called a big meeting and everything.”

“Well…” John said, holding his arms up as Dr. Winsted lifted his shirt and examined his chest and torso. “I’m honored.”

“So far so good,” the doc said. “How long have you been gone?”

“About two days,” John said.

“So what’s it like out there. How bad?”

“Not good,” John answered. “I’ll fill them in soon enough, but I’d rather not think about it at the moment.”

Dr. Winsted stopped his examination and looked John in the face. “I understand. I don’t see any discoloration, sores, or any other signs, so you should be good to go. Just monitor yourself closely. You don’t want to wake up sick and have to tell this bunch the news.”

John laughed. “They’d probably burn me at the stake.”

“Not too far from reality,” Dr. Winsted said.

They walked together down the street to the HOA office, where a large meeting had been called in anticipation of John’s arrival.

***

After a quick change into different clothes—a T-shirt and jeans—John walked to the main office ready to tell the residents about his journey. He could feel the tension in the air. Several homes had their blinds drawn and doors locked. He took it as a sign of the growing distrust occurring throughout the community. No one was outside, and he figured that everyone had probably packed into the meeting hall, some fifty people in all, eagerly awaiting the news. The main office was a gray single-story stucco building with a large flagpole sticking out of the mulch, and an American flag waving in the air.

He entered through the front door, and he could already hear the chatter of the packed meeting room. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t have just met outside instead of cramming into some stuffy, darkened room, but the HOA President liked to stick to tradition.

John walked over the red carpeting and past the office desks, going straight to the meeting room in the back. The door was closed to a crack, and he pushed it open as several faces turned to him with expectation and worry. Some were lucky enough to find chairs around the rectangular table in the middle of the room. Others were standing. At the head of the table, naturally, was Ed Tillman, HOA President.

“There he is!” Ed announced.

The men and women, worn and tired-looking, tried to look enthusiastic and began to clap. Color began to come back to their now hopeful faces, due to his mere presence.

There’s the love
, John said to himself with a tinge of sarcasm. He politely pushed his way to the white board in the front of the room as men slapped him on the back and said things like, “attaboy!” and “welcome back!”

John took his position with all eyes on him as Ed rose up and shook his hand. The crowd grew raucous, and Ed raised his arms, signaling calm.

“People, please! I’m sure John here has quite a lot to discuss. As you know, he was gone for two days. Dr. Winsted checked him out and everything and found no signs of infection, so I’d like to officially welcome him back and ask that he tell his story.”

Ed motioned to John as the room applauded again. The ages of the men and women varied, from people in their thirties to those in their sixties. Two months without power or running water had its effects. The men were unshaven and their skin oily, while the women were plain-faced, without makeup, their hair wild and messy. John looked over the crowd, their eager faces exciting him. They would hang on to his every word, and he had to admit that he was going to draw pleasure from it.

“Thank you, thank you, everyone,” he began. The room suddenly got quieter. John grabbed a red dry-erase marker that had been placed near the white board and then continued. “I was out there for two days and covered an area of roughly five to ten miles. While that doesn’t sound like a long distance, keep in mind that I spent a lot of time investigating homes, trying to find others, and searching for supplies.”

John fidgeted some with the marker, looked down at the carpet, and took a deep breath. His eyes shot up, intense and narrowed, as he continued.

“On my journey, I saw misery and death. That much is undeniable. Most homes I came across were vacant, and it appears that most people have complied with the government’s mandate to report to official quarantine stations. Stores are closed and their shelves are emptied.”

The faces of the men and women in the crowd dropped. They were expecting a silver lining somewhere and were noticeably disappointed. However, John wasn’t finished.

“The dead lay in the streets like roadkill. I don’t know where everyone is at, but we can only assume. Most homes I came across had already been pillaged of supplies, and I did my best to stay off of main roads and not get too close to the city. Like here, there appears to be no power, and I can strongly say that I hold the government responsible. They shut off the power because they’re trying to discourage us from staying in our homes.”

The charge against the government was quite outlandish, ultimately nothing but rhetoric. But he was giving the people what he knew they wanted to hear.

“Through all of this, I came across one home. One home out of a hundred, that likely has all that we need. I can’t say for sure what they have, but I know that it’s big. I watched the house for a day and tried to see who lived there, but the windows were boarded, all but one, which I assume they’re using as some kind of lookout.

“Some of you may have heard of them on TV or somewhere else, but this, I believe, is the home of a prepper. Preppers are the kind of people who prepare for natural disasters. They have months, if not years of supplies they keep in waiting so that they can survive. Roughly five miles from here, you’ll find this house.”

John turned around and began to draw the diagram of Greg’s house on the white board. It was rough, but the basic layout was accurate. There was a garage to the left, and the front of the house with two windows extended to the right. He turned to the people and began to mark entry points with an X.

“You have the garage here. I heard people talking in there, a man and a woman. This is one possible entry point, and something tells me that they’ve got supplies in there, because there were two cars in the driveway. The front door, here, could be rigged with explosives for all we know. I saw trip wire in the yard, and who knows what other traps exist? These preppers are serious people, and they’ll stop at nothing to protect their supplies.”

The crowd followed along intently. Their collective envy of the prepper house was gradually building into resentment, just as John had planned.

“We have to hit this house hard. But this will not be without risk. While looking through the window, I was seen by a man. He came after me with a rifle, and it was a miracle that I got away.”
A necessary exaggeration
, he thought. “The occupants are obviously armed, so we have to be ready for that. We have to take them by surprise and overwhelm them.”

A frizzy-haired woman shouted out from the crowd, “Are you suggesting that we kill these people?”

John thought to himself then responded. “I’m suggesting that we do what’s necessary to get their supplies. If we can avoid it, sure. But I can guarantee you that preppers do not go down without a fight.”

The crowd grumbled in ambivalence.

“Is this house really worth all this? What did you see?” a bespectacled man asked.

“I saw enough to trust my instincts. This is the golden goose. There’s a good chance that there is only a man and a woman in the house, and I’d put my money on the fact that they’re hoarding enough supplies for this entire community. It’s not that far, and if we took a few vehicles we could easily get in there, get what we need, and get out.”

More murmurs and rumblings went through the crowd. Suddenly, Ed stood up to address them.

“People, let’s hear him out. John was on a mission to find us more supplies, and if you ask me, he did his job to a T. He found a house nearby, and now we’ve got to act.”

John cut in. “We’ll need every man in the community and every weapon we have.” He pointed to a bearded man wearing a blue jumpsuit in the front.

“Rick, you’ve still got that old junk Buick banger, right?”

“Yeah, don’t know if I can get it started though. Why?”

“Because we’re going to need it. I’ve got an idea.”