Ryan Westfield - Final Chaos

Jim ignored the expiration dates on everything. He knew they didn’t always relate to reality. He’d heard from a doctor client once that it was safe to ignore the expiration dates for most of the common drugs, like antibiotics.

For other drugs, it was best to heed the dates. Jim didn’t know which were which, but he figured he’d figure it out later.

The thing now to do was just gather everything that could possibly be useful. There was no telling in what state Aly’s uncle’s lake house was in, or what sort of supplies were there.

Jim took almost everything, leaving only the things that would obviously be of no critical use to them. He left the bottles and bottles of skin lotion. He left the brushes and combs, but he grabbed things like tweezers and small scissors. They could be helpful for treating wounds.

Jim left the bathroom, leaving the door swinging behind him.

In Judy’s bedroom, next to the bathroom, he found the bed tidily made and everything put away.

It was a strange sensation, ransacking the bedroom of his recently deceased mother-in-law, but it was what he had to do.

He threw the dresser drawers open quickly, looking for anything that jumped out at him. He wasn’t expecting to find much, but it made sense to give everything a look.

There was a roll of cash in the sock drawer, which Jim grabbed and stuffed in his pocket without counting it. He doubted it’d be any good, but who knew, maybe someone would accept it in a trade.

The top drawer was filled with jewelry, which Jim grabbed and stuffed into the trash bag without a second thought. Possibly good for a trade somewhere down the line.

Provided they lived that long.

The other rooms were filled mostly with junk. Old furniture and antiques and family pictures that would have no use.

There wasn’t going to space in the car for any of that stuff.

But, on second thought, Jim dashed into one of the spare bedrooms where he knew a photo album was. Aly might appreciate having it. He stuffed it into the bag along with everything else.

Jim’s boots were loud as he rushed down the stairs.

Rob was rushing towards the door, loaded down with trash bags.

The front door swung open before Rob could get to it.

It was Jessica, her gun in her hand.

“There’s a bunch of people outside,” she said. “And they’re angry.”

“About what?” said Rob.

The reason didn’t matter to Jim. He didn’t bother to wait for her answer. It’d be something, and there was no reasoning with a mob.

“How many?” he said.

“About a dozen now,” she said, answering his question instead of Rob’s. “They were in the neighbor’s house.”

“Armed?”

She shook her head. “Not sure, but I don’t think so.”

“Nobody owns guns around here,” said Rob. “This is a fancy neighborhood.”

“You can’t be sure,” said Jim.

Aly’s sobs filled the air as their conversation fell silent for just a brief moment.

“We’re going to have to get out of here quick,” said Jim. “How much more is there to get?”

“I wanted you to take a look at the basement, and…”

“You got most of it already?”

“I need one more trip to the kitchen,” said Jessica.

“Go. Now. I’ll get Aly. Then we’re out of here. Rob, help her.”

They dashed off.

In the other room, Aly was now curled up in the fetal position next to her mother.

Jim crouched down next to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

She continued sobbing.

“Aly,” he said, using the gentlest voice he could muster in the situation. “I know this is hard. But there was nothing we could have done.”

Aly just sobbed.

There was a loud knock on the front door, which Jessica had shut and locked behind her.

Another loud knock.

“We’ve got to get out of here, Aly. We’ve got to go now.”

She turned towards him. Her face was streaked with tears. The little makeup she wore was running. Her mouth was puckered up in a sob and her nose was running.

“How can you say that?” she said. “My mother just died!” Her words became nothing but a wail.

“There’s a crowd out there and they want something. They thought we were criminals before, and I’m sure it’s worse now. If we don’t leave now, we’re never going to get out of here. Come on.”

Jim grabbed her gently by her arms and tried to coax her to her feet.

But she pulled back away from him and threw herself down onto the hard floor.

“We’ve got to go, Aly.”

Another knock at the door. Louder, this time.

“Hey! We know you’re in there!” shouted someone.

“Aly,” said Jim. “Get up.”

She turned and looked at him, an expression of immense hurt on her face.

Suddenly, the window looking out to the front yard shattered. Someone had broken it.

Jim stood up in a flash, pulling Aly to her feet as well. “Get back,” he said to her.

Jim reached for his Ruger, strode rapidly to the front door, and threw it open.

A dozen angry faces greeted him. Some he recognized. Some he didn’t. Some were neighbors that he’d seen here and there when visiting Judy.

Some were just faces that he’d seen in passing while driving on that same street. It was strange to see them now, fury and vengeance written across them just like words.

Jim leveled the revolver. Pointed right at the chest of the nearest man.

Those in the back of the crowd scattered.

But four in the front stood their ground.

“What’s this about?” said Jim, his voice cold and gravely.

“You’re a killer.” The man’s voice shook a little as he spoke, as he eyed the revolver. But he stood his ground. In another time, Jim might have been impressed.

“And where are the police?”

The men glanced at each other.

“I guess you couldn’t call them?” said Jim.

No answer.

“What I suggest,” said Jim. “Is that you all go back to your homes, if that’s where you plan to stay. If you’re smart, you’ll get out of Pittsford. It’s not going to be safe here.”

“Not with people like you!” came a voice from around the side of the house, where Jim couldn’t see. Probably whoever had shattered the window.

“I’m not going to explain myself,” said Jim. “The dead man got what he deserved. Some of you know me, and if you’re convinced I’m a murderer, then that’s on you. Either way, I’d get away from this house before I need to take action.”

Jim stared into the eyes of the man nearest him. He didn’t blink.

The man turned, muttered something, and the group slowly dispersed.

Jim slammed the door closed. Hard.

Turning, he saw that Rob and Jessica were standing right behind him. Jessica had her Glock drawn. Rob was holding a large kitchen knife.

“We’re leaving now,” said Jim. “I don’t want to be here if they change their minds.”

“What about the basement?” said Rob.

Jim just shook his head.

“And Aly?” said Rob.

“Get in the car,” said Jim. “I’ll bring her.”

Aly was still with her mother.

“Aly,” said Jim. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

She wasn’t crying as hard now. “I know,” she said. “But we can’t just… leave her here like this.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jim. “But there’s no other way. Who knows how close we are to more violence. We’ve got to leave. She’d want you to be safe.”

“Can’t we take her with us? And bury her out by the lake? She always liked it out there, before Jordan started drinking.”

Jim shook his head. “I wish we could. We don’t have room. Come on. Give me your hand.”

Finally, she took his hand, and he led her out the front door, taking one final look at her mother’s body.