There’s no way to tell if it was a factor or not, but kitty-corner to Abernathy’s Scientific & Educational Supply House was a Greyhound bus station. In fact all four corners would lead to the quick spread of the virus. It’s origins we do not yet know. Everything is speculation and a bit of conspiracy theory at this point. Still, it all worked out a little too well. Millions would die quickly.
On a third corner was a branch of the Bluegrass Community Credit Union. That part had to have been just plain bad luck. On the same day it started there’d been some unexpected violence to help spread the virus amidst the panic.
On the final corner was a business more likely a part of the plan, the East Jonesboro Clinic. These days it’s much more a hospice center helping those dealing with death, mainly from cancer, their specialty. 50% just elderly, 50% terminal cancer.
As is usual for a day like this one, a gentle breeze is blowing.
***
It’s a Wednesday morning and one of the first stops for Trevor is one of his usual stops, Abernathy’s Supply House. They specialize in distributing scientific equipment, educational materials, biological samples, and all the rest to schools and colleges throughout the eastern half of the United States
Trevor is a fourth year driver for Global Delivery Services. Friendly and efficient, the office ladies on his routes are often happy to see his arrival.
“This one’s from a country I’ve never even heard of,” notes Trevor as he scans the package’s barcode. He taps in some more info into his electronic data pad. “That’s eight total. You know the routine.” He hands the device over to Charles.
Grabbing the stylus, Charles scribbles what barely resembles his real signature onto the worn e-pad. “Slow day today. We only have five going out.” As Charles hands the e-pad back, he nods to the usual spot on the counter where four standard GDS packages and one extra large one await. He quickly coughs into his bent elbow just the way all the public health people said he should. Just like Dracula.
“Coming down with something?” asks Trevor worried he may get it next.
“Nah, fighting the end of that cough that’s been going a round. I’m past the worst. Living on cough drops though.” Doesn’t make Trevor feel any better.
“Take care of yourself. See you tomorrow.” Trevor loads his empty dolly with the 5 new packages and leaves for his illegally parked delivery truck.
***
Four hours later, it’s Charles’ lunch break. He runs across the street to the credit union to deposit his paycheck. It’s the 15th, so it’s a little busier than usual.
He covers a cough and reaches into his pants pocket. Unwrapping yet another honey-lemon cough drop Charles counts the number of people in line in front of him again. Still six. Behind him the front doors continue to open and close customers come and go.
Lost in thought, he hears a conversation to his left that cuts through the chatter. Not particularly loud, its tone just seems to stand out above the rest of the sounds.
“You can’t be here right now.” The woman’s voice is tense. “I’m at work.”
“Why won’t you listen?” he pleads. You don’t have to be eavesdropping to notice the man doesn’t belong. He’s a big man. Looks like he’s usually kind, but now very stressed. Doesn’t work here at all.
“Please leave…restraining order…” Her voice lowers with sadness as it tappers off. The woman steps to her left so she’s back behind her desk. Probably a loan officers. Maybe being behind her desk offers an element of normalcy and security.
Charles starts to get a sour feeling in his stomach. Charles notices she pulls the two halves of her open blazer together with one hand. A very defensive move. Others scattered around the credit start to take notice too.
Looking down at his feet, the man says something incoherent. The lady stays speechless for a long pause. He pulls a handgun from inside his coat as he continues to mumble something about the kids and an aunt.
A woman immediately shrieks. It’s not the ex-wife, but one of the tellers on the other side of the room who had noticed him about the same time as Charles had turned around.
The twenty-something two spots ahead of Charles simply drops the loudest, almost comical, F-Bomb ever heard as he drops to the floor.
At that moment an unaware customer walks in through the front glass doors. The change in sunlight visible in the gunman’s peripheral distracts him. He swings around taking his aim away from his ex and onto the newcomer. Maybe without thinking he pulls the trigger.
The man standing in the credit union doorway, still dressed in his assistant manager’s shirt and supermarket badge takes the non-fatal shot in his shoulder. As he stumbles and falls backwards he blocks the doors from closing with his torso. He clutches the wound with his good hand. He looks up at the door jam wondering what happened.
“Steve! No!” cries the woman. He swings back around sending a second round into her chest. She slowly crumbles to the carpet behind her desk without a sound. Steve mumbles some more.
The young lady who was currently acting as the receptionist / greeter at the table near the front door as everyone walks in was in a crouching position. Stephanie dropped to one knee when she heard the first shot. She springs to her feet and in a couple of strides she’s out the door unnoticed, stepping on the super market assistant manager’s chest as she goes.
The F-Bomber jumps up and makes his break for freedom. The problem is Steve, with a resigned look in his eye, stands only about eight feet away at this point. There’s no going back. His wife is gone, the children will be gone from his life, and its death by police or prison for him. He pulls the trigger again.
The F-Bomber takes the bullet through his neck, trips over his feet, stumbles, and slides across the tiled floor. Steve’s not the best shot in the world, but firing guns since he was nine with his family, he’s good enough to hit his mark.
Next, Steve looks to his left towards the teller windows. There’s commotion all around. Unknown to him, someone’s tripped the silent alarm. The police will show expecting those two bank robbers that have been hitting banks in the region. They’ll be surprised, but they’re still minutes away.
Frozen, sitting at one of the teller windows sits an older woman. By this time she could have dropped to the ground and maybe even found some cover in the rooms in the back. Instead she sits staring at the flustered gunman, motionless. Steve’s eyes lock in on hers. He sees her look as one of disapproval.
She’s probably a friend of his ex-wife’s. She probably tells her co-workers all sorts of lies. How dare she judge him. She doesn’t know their problems. They’re all judging him. Now the media and the world will judge him too. Steve takes aim again.
This bullet shatters her cheekbone as she falls back from her chair onto the carpet ground behind her. Steve starts spinning around the room and taking measured shots as he reaches into his coat for his second gun. Anyone who catches his eye is fired upon.
Charles, still lying under the table, squeezes his right thigh, trying to stop the blood loss and somehow make the pain go away. Too late to run now.
What isn’t known when historians look back on this day is did Charles carry the virus with him into the credit union, or did it drift inside carried by the breeze.
***
“Just to make sure I’m still on the right track, let me confirm your objectives before I show you what I’ve worked up for you. I think you’ll be thrilled.” Richard has been in the insurance field since completing college. He recently moved to Jonesboro
The Hammonds
Richard continues, “John, Betsy, you want your son to take over the business, but if you, John, were to die prematurely, Betsy would still need to draw and income from the business?”
“That’s right,” agrees John who’s leaning forward, elbows on the desk he’s sat behind for years. Betsy’s sitting at the end of the desk. Richard’s opposite John where all vendors and salesman sit when trying to win over John. Betsy’s often the real decision maker if it involves the budget. Richard hasn’t figured that out quite yet.
“Looking at the financials, your business is doing well, but maybe not quite well enough for your son to quit his job and work here full time and still support Betsy 100% as well. Is that a correct estimate?” Richard is sure to make contact with them both.
“Sounds about right to me, but Betsy knows the numbers best,” says John. “The economy’s still weak. What do you think, Betz?”
“We’d have to let one or two of our people go for me and Jerry to both live off this place. I don’t want that.” Betsy seems to be the driving force on this one.
“I’d like to buy you options and the freedom to choose what to do when the worst happens someday. Knock on wood.” Richard watches their reactions to make sure he’s not, as he likes to say, “creeping them out.”
“For your son to take out a business loan large enough to buy the business from you, Betsy, at a decent enough price to support you would then saddle him with so much debt and a large payment, that the business might fail him.” Richard takes a dramatic pause. “Instead I’m proposing he buy enough life insurance on you, John, that he can buy the business at a fair enough price to support Betsy for the rest of her expected life. The best thing about this alternative is life insurance money doesn’t have to be paid back like a business loan would.
“This way, all the earnings from the business can go to support your son, Jerry, and his family without added debt and no one gets laid off.” Richard pauses for a reaction from one of them.
John cracks first. “Yeah, but I have to die to do it.” He smiles so he’s good with it. He’s on board.
It’s then their secretary pops her head in the doorway. “There’s something going on down the road. I just got a text from my friend. There’s cop cars surrounding a credit union. She works at the nursing home on 8th street Wells Ave.
Richard breaks in, “Bluegrass Community. That’s my credit union. Robbery?”
Showing some concern Betsy notes, “Jerry’s wife works about three blocks away from there. I should give her a call.”
“Got another text.” The secretary pauses to read. “She sees a guy laying in the parking lot. Cops are trying to get to him.”
“With all due respect, Richard, I like where we’re going with this,” explains John Hammond, “but I think we need to reschedule the rest of this till later.”
“I agree. I’ll call tomorrow and see what everyone’s schedules are like.” They finish with some pleasantries as they escort Richard to the door. He gets into his car and decides to drive back to the office. Too early in the day to go home when you own your own business. Still he knows not much work will get done. In a town the size of Jonesboro , Kentucky
Maybe the clients who’ve said “no” to him for life insurance recently will reconsider their choice, but then he feels guilty for such a thought. People do need a reminder of their mortality at times. Richard pulls out of the parking lot and turn right onto the main road through town.
***
The intersection of 8th Street
What is known will be reconstructed by the historians after the chaos passes and wounds have healed.
