Carrion (The Bren Watts Diaries #1)

Chapter 15

I went over to the window and peeked outside. It was bizarre to think that we were only twenty feet away from the ravaged city streets. A few rioters were roaming around like madmen, seemingly hunting for other people. There was a van not far away, and a couple of them looked like they figured out there were people inside, and they smashed through the windows.

The silence once again was replaced by their screams and the shrieks of the rioters.

They pulled two women out, kicking and clamoring out of their grip. Their cries filled the street and flowed into the store's walls. I couldn't watch after that, and we as a group retreated into the shadows, listening as they struggled for their life.

"I couldn't believe what's happening out there," said Bobby behind me.

"We could've saved them and drag them here," Luke mumbled, talking about the two women screaming outside. Their screams suddenly cut short.

Everyone knew what that meant.

"Nah. Don't bother, kid. If we go out there, we'll die just like them. And if we did, we risk compromising this place," Joe said. He touched the wall with the palm of his hand. "This isn't even concrete. Just wood."

Luke pouted, but he didn't say anything else.

"How's the kid?" Joe asked, regarding his attention back to me.

"Fine. Carson will live," I said. "I'm worried about his whining. He got a splinter one time in school, and he wouldn't shut up about it for days. You'd think he got stabbed on the streets twenty-seven times the way he narrated it."

"Well, he needed to keep his mouth shut if we're going to be stuck here for a while," Joe chuckled.

"They looked right to you?" Bobby asked me suddenly. "They look sickly. Red two-pupil eyes and such. Damn, I've never seen such a thing in my life. What should we call them?"

"Call what?"

"You know. Them. The rioters. Obviously, we can't call them rioters anymore. They don't look like rioters to me. This thing went way past just a Neo-Nazi protest versus counter-protester violence."

I nodded, thinking about it. "Well, the rioters are sick. I think they are. And we know that whatever they got can be transmitted from person to person."

"So, other people can get it," Joe sighed.

"Let's call them Vectors," I said.

"Vectors?"

"Yes. Vectors. In biology, a vector is a pathogen, let's say a virus, which doesn't necessarily cause the disease itself but spreads the infection by conveying the pathogen from one host to another. A vector is a vehicle for delivering and transmitting the pathogen to anyone it made contact with, so the rioters are our vectors."

"Vectors," Joe repeated. "Good."

"Do we have it then?" Bobby asked.

"I--I don't think so. I saw one turned right away after--well, I don't know what happened to him exactly since I was busy running. But he did attack me, and he had the same crazy look in his eyes...Maybe it's safe to say that we don't have it. You don't see my eyes changing."

"Right, right," Bobby muttered. "I hope not. If it is what you said, and it's a disease, why aren't people reporting about it?"

"The government is suppressing information," Joe answered. "There's already panic on the streets. Imagine what it would do if it the entire Eastern Atlantic Seaboard. Heck, try the entire country."

I turned to Luke and cocked my head toward the side, farther enough from the others. Bobby and Joe continued whispering to each other. "Did you make a good count of how many of us are in here?" I asked Luke.

"There are six others--so that makes sixteen of us. Some are tourists and kids," Luke said.

"We're too vulnerable staying here. We need to keep going."

"But where are we going to stay?"

"Before we do any of that, we should secure this location first. We may have to move away from the windows. I saw a door at the back next to the bathroom. I think it leads to the employees' section. We should hide there."

I surmised that one of the people hiding behind the counter was the employee due to him wearing the bookstore's logo on his black shirt and that he had a name tag on him: Jonas. The man was about my height and built but a little older than me, and I guessed he went to a college nearby once he spouted off, needing to go home to his dorm and checking up on his friends. I asked him about the employees' section.

"Yeah, that's the employees' section," Jonas said. "There are only a few windows there, and no doors led are leading to the outside."

"Great. Before we help others up there, are there other entrances that would make it easier for them to enter?"

Jonas thought for a second. "There's the loading dock at the back. It leads to an alley."

"Bring me there."

Jonas brought a flashlight out from underneath the counter, and I followed him toward the back with my shotgun. He felt uneasy with the gun aimed continuously close behind him, and once I told him I'd lead the front instead, Jonas relaxed. We checked the loading docks' overhead doors, making sure they were locked tightly before trying the lone door next to it. It was closed and padlocked, too.

"The keys to these doors are behind that room." Jonas pointed into a small dark room with a window next to the door.

"Where's the owner of this place?" I asked.

"He lives a few blocks down. And uh, my manager went out to check what was going on outside, and he never came back."

Ran away or probably dead.

We gathered the others into the employees' room. There was a hallway that led to the main hall, where two couches sat opposite each other. At the far side was a roundtable. There was a small kitchenette complete with a refrigerator, a microwave, and a coffee machine. Next to the kitchen was a door that led to a small locker room, and next to that was the manager's office. Everyone sat and huddled around the main hall.

I made sure to lock the employees' section door on my way in and headed straight to the island counter by the kitchens. I placed the duffel bag on the surface and zipped it open.

Luke and Yousef joined me.

"I never really get to thank you for saving my ass back there," said Yousef.

I chuckled. "Yeah, no problem. At least you said thank you," I said, tilting my head to Bobby sitting by the couch.

Yousef frowned. "I don't like that man. He's shady. He thinks I caused what's going on outside just because I look Middle-Eastern and that I'm a Muslim."

"Don't think too hard about it, man. The man's shaken and terrified like the rest of us," Luke said.

"As long as he doesn't stand around me, breathing down my neck, then I'm fine," Yousef's grin returned on his lips. "Anyway, what do you got in there?" He pointed at the duffel bag.

"I don't know. I'm just checking it out. Let's see here."

There were a lot of things inside the bag. No wonder my back was sore hauling it. I came close to abandoning the bag due to how heavy it was outside, and I'm glad I didn't.

It was a treasure trove.