Tales of the Derry Plague by Anselmo, Ray (most inspirational books of all time TXT) 📗

Finally, for completion’s sake more than actual hope, she walked the trail from Sayler Beach Overlook (which did not overlook the beach, but the town and the sea) to the ranch and back again, a two-mile round trip on dirt. Maybe there was a camper, a hiker, a hobo who hadn’t been affected. By the time she returned to her car at the overlook, it was 1:06 p.m. Less than six hours since she’d first tried calling the store. Less than four since she found poor Chun Li and almost lost her mind. She’d been searching or planning to search almost the whole time since.

And save for some barking dogs, nobody and nothing had answered her cries.

Back at the overlook, Kelly sat in the driver’s seat sideways, her feet on the pavement. She was as alone as alone could be – if not in the world, at least in this community. Between the shock and the lamotrigine, she barely felt anything other than vaguely hopeless.

She tossed Sarah’s bullhorn in the back seat and rested her elbows on her knees, staring east over the lifeless town. “Okay, kiddo,” she muttered to herself. “Any more bright ideas?”

4

PYRE

She had one idea, though she didn’t like it much. It would be depressing, and gross, and a lot of work, days’ worth. But it was A Thing She Could Do, and having A Thing She Could Do had always been good for her mental health, going back to childhood. And she felt it was A Thing She Should Do – a morally good thing – which also tended to help.

So that only left the how and the where.

How, she figured out quickly, was easy, at least in concept. SBN&N had a delivery truck, a decommissioned U-Haul with a 17-foot bed that they usually used to pick up product when it was cheaper than having it delivered. It was a beast to drive on Marin County’s winding roads, but she’d done it before. And it had its own hand truck inside. It would serve.

She drove to the store and grabbed what she thought she could use – a case of heavy-duty lawn-and-leaf trash bags, two cans of Lysol, a case of air freshener, a face shield to go with the cloth mask. Inspiration struck – if she started up at the fire department, she could use one of their suits to keep herself clean. It was August, so she’d probably sweat like a thoroughbred in it, but that was just an inconvenience when dealing with a townwide biohazard. And it would be handy in the last part of the task.

Where would the last part be? She wasn’t sure yet, but she had time to figure that out in the midst of all the physical labor. Where she should start was more urgent – at the fire department, after she got in a suit, or right at the store, where she already was? After some thought, she decided safety was more important than efficiency. Nobody she’d be dealing with was going anywhere.

She drove the truck up to the fire station, found a suit roughly in her size and put it on – jacket, pants, boots, gloves. She didn’t think she’d need the helmet, and she already had a face shield. The outfit was lighter than she’d expected and not too tough to move around in. And it was so visible with the reflective strips and the like that if anyone was alive but hadn’t answered the bullhorn, they’d spot her right away. While she was at it, she nabbed a fire ax – it might prove useful.

No more stalling – she was here, she was equipped, there was nothing more important to do right now. Time to get to the heavy lifting.

Out of respect for long friendship, she went to Pablo first. She maneuvered his body into a black bag, tied it at the top and dragged it to the back of the truck, which was parked just outside the front door. Pablo was a big guy, well over two hundred pounds with the kind of physique that let you pose shirtless on calendars, and Kelly … wasn’t, so it took a while with a few breathers before she got him settled in the truck. She realized that there was no way she could do that three hundred times, so she broke out the dolly after that.

She got the other two volunteer firefighters into the truck with greater ease, then began searching the adjacent buildings. That was going to be the time-consuming part – having to look anywhere and everywhere a human being could’ve dropped. She knew she wouldn’t find them all, but she also knew she would try. The last thing anyone who was still alive – her, especially – needed was to trip over a decomposing corpse a week or month down the road.

She quickly established a pattern. Open every door. If it wouldn’t open, crack it with the crowbar. If the crowbar wouldn’t do it, use the fire ax. Check every room, every garage, every storage bin or pod that wasn’t locked, and every car or truck. Bag each body, put them on the dolly, haul them to the delivery truck and lay them down. Let loose any dogs, cats or other pets that could walk or fly away. (She wasn’t prepared to deal with fish tanks and didn’t try). Leave the door open upon departure, so you have a visual that you’ve been there.

Most of all, try not to think about how they were your friends and neighbors. They’re not in there anymore, and you’re just the one-person coroner’s office now. Feelings will just slow you down and bust you up. So ignore them and work. You can cry later.

She was ready to stop at sundown, but by then had taken care of the fire department and all the buildings around it, the Spinnaker