“Is it really necessary for us to stay out here while we wait? I assume you saw us roll up on the bikes. So, lets try this another way. Hi, I’m CJ Thompson. It’s nice to meet you,” said CJ as he stepped around Rubio.
“Now that’s a very polite introduction, but you ain’t getting in here without the insulin. It’s not like a flip a coin every time I open my door and hope it’ll be ok. Shit,” replied the eyes behind the door.
CJ took a beat to see where the man was coming from. He looked at the barricaded windows again. Slipping a fresh deck of cards out of his tuxedo jacket, he began shuffling it from hand to hand. He made the flowing cards arch between both hands before sliding the center of the deck our and flipping it on top.
“Whatcha doing with those cards, son? You about break out a card table and start dealing right on my stoop?” asked the eyes.
“Nope, shuffling helps me think. Were you cooking something up earlier? I noticed smoke puffing from your roof,” questioned CJ as he heard Jenn and Monty crossing the parking lot.
“Nah, just priming my new boiler. It still gets chilly at night and these old bones wanted some heat,” answered the man.
“You’ve got a working hot water heater in there. Lap of luxury,” said Elena while keeping an eye further down the road.
“Okay, we’re back. All they had was this box of twelve vials. I hope that helps,” commented Jenn.
New Message from Rubio: CJ, you’ve got his attention. What do you want to do here?
New Message from Party Leader CJ: Let’s get into his place and ask about what’s been going on in this neighborhood. I have an idea.
“Alright. So, here’s how I see this going down. We give you the insulin and then you slam the door in our faces. Not an ideal outcome. I’ve told you my name already and I’m sure you got the world notification that I was the one who opened the first safe zone. That’s right safe. No army of marching skeletons, no monsters at all. The only problem is it doesn’t reach further than three city blocks. I’m looking to recruit people to come live there. So, here’s my proposal. You let us into what appears to be a fortress in suburbia, and we can get to know each other better. You’ll get the insulin either way. If we can’t come to an agreement, we’ll leave it right here on your doorstep and continue on our way,” explained CJ.
New Message from Elena: What if he’s a no phone?
New Message from Party Leader CJ: He’s not. Even through the eye slit I can tell he has full access to his slate.
“Why would I trust a random stranger who says he’s the savior of mankind?” asked the man behind the door.
“You shouldn’t. Not in our new reality. I’ve had to come to grips with the concept that things will never be the same again. The only thing left is to save as many people as possible. I have a feeling its going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better. I’d rather face the bad times with people I can trust. Wouldn’t you?” asked CJ.
“All the people I trust died weeks ago,” replied the man, CJ noticed a hint of sadness in his eyes.
“You a gambling man? High card says we come in and chat. Low card says we leave the insulin and go our separate ways. What do you say?” challenged CJ holding the deck out in front of the door.
“I get to choose the card?” asked the man.
“Sure, if it makes you more comfortable.”
“Fifth from the bottom.”
CJ held the deck out in front of the door. He dropped the bottom card to the ground. Then the second from the bottom, followed by the third and the fourth. Grasping the deck with his right hand from the top, CJ flipped the whole thing over to reveal the ten of hearts.
“My turn.”
“Ah, I’ve known some card sharks in my time. I’m going to pick your card as well. The top card.”
CJ flipped the card on the top of the deck revealing the king of diamonds. There was a brief pause before the man behind the door began to chuckle. It was a full throated healthy laugh that broke the tension outside. Then the sound of metal disengaging and a cross bar being drawn away from the door.
“Come on in. Fair is fair.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
They all filed into the building. There were string lights running from room to room. On their immediate right was a common sitting room. It had multiple sofas and recliners all aligned in a U shape facing what was once a flat screen tv. It was now smashed, gutted, and on the floor. The hallway was wide enough for four people to walk down it. To the left was a desk marked reception. It had a wilted potted plant on it and a monitor with another broken screen. The man behind the door had salt and pepper curly hair. The hair on top of his head was longer than the sides showing he mostly kept it cropped short. His beard had grown in around his jaw and he was thicker than CJ imagined. He closed the door after they were all in, several locks engaging. Finally, he drew a metal rod across the doorway. That was when CJ noticed his right leg from the knee down was gone. In its place was an iron rod and an articulating foot complete with toes made from metal.
“Welcome to Southern Jersey Heavens retirement home for the elderly. I’m Roger Cormier, thank you for the insulin little blonde woman. Much appreciated. I hope you understand my hesitation considering all that’s going on in the world. That’s a big rabbit. Now you were saying something about a place safe from monsters,” intimated Roger.
“May we sit?” asked CJ getting a nod from Roger.
“I don’t have much to offer in terms of drinks. I wasn’t expecting any company,” joked Roger with a wide smile that didn’t quite reach his ears.
“No worries,” replied CJ as he passed out several cans of soda he just retrieved from the CVS.
The cans just appeared in his hand as he distributed them amongst everyone that was there. With each can Rogers eyes shot open even wider. Then CJ produce a full bottle of water and offered it to Roger. He stepped toward CJ to take it, every other footfall landing with a clank. Each clank sending a shiver up Roger’s spine. The wincing was noticeable by all.
“Apologies. I’m still getting used to my new prosthetic,” said Roger.
“Roger why are you still here? Especially with that ball of death rolling through the streets. Also, how do you have power?” asked CJ after looking around more.
“That’s a long story. Fuck it, I’ll tell y’all anyway…”
----------------------------------------
Roger shook the cobwebs out of his head. He wondered what in the hell just happened to him. One minute he was checking the score for last night’s game on his phone before it went blue and strange writing scrawled across his vision. It was still there. He read it again.
I have claimed this world as my own. The Goddess of Fate. Worship me and be rewarded.
“What in the fuck does that mean?” he asked aloud.
Roger stepped over to the dresser and picked up a picture frame. He looked at it with longing for a long while before placing it back down. Grabbing a pair of jeans, a clean shirt, and his boots, Roger got dressed. He stopped in his kitchen to see the timer on his coffee maker didn’t go off. The steaming hot pot of coffee he was looking forward to did not exist. That was going to be a problem. If Roger liked anything it was his hot coffee. Looking around he noticed none of his electronics were on. There was no light on the microwave clock. He went over to the wall switch and flipped it. Nothing. He grabbed his phone to call the landlord only to realize the screen had cracked clean down the middle.
“How the hell did that happen?” he asked himself.
A loud crack could be heard from outside. Making his way over to the window, Roger peered through his blinds. Had to be at least a five car pileup outside and some fool was waiving a handgun around. As his eyes darted back and forth up and down the street, he noticed many people running in various directions. As well as an annoying blinking in the lower part of his vision. He ignored that for now. Looking down from his third floor window, panic started to set in. Roger stilled himself. He needed to get to work.
On the top shelf of his hall closet, Roger grabbed an old emergency crank radio. If this were a statewide situation, he’d be able to pick up the emergency broadcast system on that. He began to crank the handle only to get static in return. Roger started cranking faster until there was a pop. Smoke began to lazily drift out of the device to sting his nostrils and he tossed onto the kitchen table. A slight glow emanated from the broken parts, but Roger just ignored it. Bang Bang. Shots were fired outside, and people began screaming. Back in his closet was a twelve gauge shotgun he kept for emergencies.
“Fuck if this doesn’t fit the bill,” he said as he leapt for the weapon and began loading slugs.
He grabbed a blue jacket emblazoned with a U.S. Navy Veteran patch, stuffed some extra shotgun shells in the pocket, and grabbed his ring of keys for the retirement home. He needed to double check the old folks. The one thing he didn’t hear outside was sirens. Opening the door to his apartment he was greeted by his fellow neighbors standing in the hallway confused.
“Folks, go back inside. I’m sure this will all be over soon,” he bellowed.
“Man fuck you! Its crazy outside. I saw some shit crawling the walls outside of old lady Johnson’s apartment before I heard he start screaming. That shotgun you’re carrying doesn’t inspire confidence. I bet she’s dead in her apartment right now. Right behind this door—” the man didn’t finish as the door smashed across the hall crushing him in the process.
Roger cocked his shot gun and blind fired through the doorway. There was an unholy screech before they could all hear banging throughout old lady Johnson’s apartment before the smashing of glass leading outside.
“What the fuck was that!” screamed several people.
“Everyone get back in your apartments. Lock your doors and close your windows. Do it now!” yelled Roger as he headed into the now ruined apartment.
Mrs. Johnson's place always smelled like warm cookies and cornbread. She was old enough that she still kept the plastic covers on all her furniture. That was a good thing too since Roger almost wretched. There was blood everywhere. There were pieces of Mrs. Johnson everywhere. Roger had to get the hell out of there. He headed for the staircase assuming the elevator wouldn’t be working. After making it to the first floor he noticed all the apartment doors down here were all open. There were bloody drag marks all over. For a man in his early sixties, running was not a regular activity. The retirement home was only five blocks away.
“I can make it. Fucking stairs,” huffed Roger as he took off down the road.