Bobby Akart - Armageddon

Next to the pickup’s front bumper lay a dead man with a pistol by his side. A bullet-riddled body hung half in and half out of the Camaro. Both men were bloodied from what appeared to be a gun battle between them.

“Wait, Tucker! It may not be safe.” Owen attempted to catch up with his son, but Tucker wanted to see what had happened. By the time his parents had caught up to him, he’d picked up the pickup driver’s handgun and was examining it.

“Tucker, put that down,” his mother ordered. “The police will want to photograph and print that.”

“Mom, there are no police,” said Tucker. He handed the weapon to his father and walked to the other dead body. There was a handgun lying under his shoulder. Tucker didn’t hesitate to reach for it, apparently unaffected by the two dead men, who were covered in blood and snow.

“Where is everybody else?” asked Owen. “I count six other cars, but there are only these two drivers.”

Tucker was remarkably calm under the circumstances. “Maybe they ran off when the bullets started flying? If their cars didn’t run, what would be the point of sticking around and getting shot.” He studied the semiautomatic pistol and knelt down to wipe the blood off on a clean part of the dead man’s shirt. He stood and handed it to his father, who was now holding a weapon in each hand as if they were sunny-side-up eggs poised to run off his palms if he didn’t hold them just right.

“How are we gonna get through this?” asked Lacey.

Owen stepped forward with his palms up, guns in hand. “I think we could ease by the Camaro here and nudge our way over that way. If we hug the guardrail, we can force our way past those last couple of cars.”

Lacey looked around as the snow began to fall in heavy, thick flakes. The weather would only make their task more difficult if they hesitated.

“Okay, that’s all we’ve got.”

Tucker grabbed the Camaro driver by the arms and dragged him out of the front seat. He slid the corpse out of the way next to the car’s rear wheels.

Owen looked down at the guns, and he finally had the courage to grip them by the handles. It was a symbolic gesture as he took ownership of the two weapons, something he never thought he’d do. Then he made another suggestion that was a first.

“I think we should go through these cars and see if there is anything we could use. I know, I know, it’s like stealing. But really, is it? This has all been abandoned. And certainly, these two dead guys won’t know.”

“Dad’s right. We already know that we might have to steal gas to keep going. We might as well see if there’s anything we need. We can always leave the rest for somebody else.”

Both guys looked forward toward the pileup as they contemplated their first attempt at looting, or foraging, depending on how they looked at it. They were surprised when Lacey spoke up.

“Are you talking about stuff like this?” she asked as she reached into the pickup truck bed and lifted one of two red five-gallon gas cans onto the fender. For Lacey, there was no doubt. She considered their actions to be foraging and necessary for her family’s survival.

Monday, October 28

CVS Pharmacy

Fairfax, Virginia

There was an old saying in the American Midwest. Pigs get fat, and hogs get slaughtered. It was an idiom applied to any number of things that meant a person should be satisfied at some point because when they become too greedy, they may lose it all.

Peter and Jackie had gone to great risk to break into the CVS Pharmacy. Evidence of looting was everywhere in that part of Fairfax, Virginia. The mall had been taken over by an armed gang. Vehicles were burning around them. Soot-filled air threatened to kill people with compromised respiratory systems.

He had one job, which was to locate insulin for the diabetic grandmother. However, the opportunity arose to pillage an actual drugstore and its prescription medications. Peter suspected that those who followed him would seek out opioids, narcotics and all kinds of mind-altering drugs. He took a different approach.

First, he secured Asia’s insulin. He knew nothing about it. The brands varied, and their uses did as well. Rapid acting. Short acting. Long acting. It didn’t matter. He shoveled it all into a CVS Pharmacy shopping tote and set it next to his point of entry. Then he went shopping.

He prioritized finding pharmaceutical-grade potassium iodide, a task that took ten minutes as he searched for a needle in the haystack. Periodically, he shouted to Jackie to confirm they were still safe. Her response was always the same. Nothing.

So Peter continued rummaging around. This time, he was in search of antibiotics. Lacey had impressed upon him the importance of a basic first aid kit with antibiotic ointments when they camped in the wilderness. An infected injury could spread rapidly before the camper could see a doctor. Peter had never taken antibiotics, but he recognized the generic names—amoxicillin, doxycycline, sulfa drugs and cipro that was often used for respiratory infections. He thought that would be especially valuable with all the nuclear fallout in the air.

He filled up another sack with the antibiotics and set it on the countertop. Lastly, he thought about the most sought-after drugs on an abuser’s wish list. Could he use them as a bargaining chip? What could he trade fentanyl for? It was a pain medication a hundred times more potent than morphine.

With his flashlight leading the way, he studied the pharmacy shelves, looking for the opioids, stimulants, and even the depressants. He smiled to himself as he mumbled, “Take ’em up. Bring ’em down. Keep ’em stoned in between.”

“Peter!” said Jackie in a loud whisper. She was just outside the pharmacy. “I didn’t see them coming.”

“What?” he asked nervously as he dropped the bag half full of downers. “Who?”

“Shhh!” she implored him to keep his voice down. “They came running from around the corner. I didn’t know whether I should shoot them.”

“Come on, man!” a deep voice bellowed from the front of the store.

Peter pointed toward the left where the shampoos and hair care products were located. He felt certain that wasn’t what the men were interested in. “Hide over there. If they start shooting, I’ll yell fire. You’ll have to help but not until you hear my voice.”

“You kids get the hell out of here!” ordered another man.

“Go! Go! Go!” ordered Peter in a loud whisper.

Suddenly flashlights were darting across the ceiling and the floor. The illumination from one barely missed Jackie as she darted in front of the approaching men seeking a place to hide.

“It’s locked down!” One of the men shouted. His partner quickly rebuked him.

“We got this, man. Stand aside.”

Peter moved the totes of insulin and antibiotics across the counter to the side of the computer register. He wasn’t sure how this was going to play out, but he certainly wanted to stay alive first and protect the drugs second. He crouched down and moved as far back into the dark recesses of the pharmacy as he could yet still be able to watch their movements.

The four men huddled in front of the drop-off window. Thus far, none of them had the presence of mind to look up to notice the missing ceiling tiles.

Peter readied his weapon. He had to remain disciplined.

SMACK! SMACK!

The sound of the countertop being broken apart with a sledgehammer filled the air. The kids from the food aisle apparently hadn’t left yet, by their shrieks and screams. They raced out the front door, leaving their snacks behind.

“Put your back into it! Gimme that thing!”