Further on, they passed a shot-up blue Dodge minivan. It was littered with hundreds of bullet holes from stem to stern. Every shard of glass had been ripped out of the windows’ frames. The ground sparkled around it, disconcertingly beautiful. Peering in, Cooper saw no bodies. Instead, thick bloodstains covered all three rows of seats. The side doors all lay ajar and blood trails moved away from the van before disappearing a few feet further into the street. Did they transfer the dead into another car?
Then, they came upon a bizarre spectacle. A stand had been cobbled together from mismatched wood lengths. A sign over it, painted in black, “Lemonade! It’s cured hundreds in Australia!” Three heavily armed, dirty, men stood around it. Two clutched shotguns while a third wielded an AK-47. Sitting behind the stand, a blond child, Jake’s age, sat ready to serve. She was clean, wearing a pressed white dress, with her hair done up in bows. The contrast struck Cooper as comical. Down below, also in black, “$100 per glass!” They didn’t stop to ask.
Just beyond that, they drove past several streets where almost every other house had been burned to the ground. The detritus of ruined households was strewn about the street and lawns: clothing, broken furniture, smashed dishes, and…dead bodies. The dead has been that way for more than a day and the flies flew thick around them. After a few pensive moments of observation, the shotgun clasped firmly, Cooper saw that the men had been killed execution style. There were bullet wounds to the head, from close range. Worse, the women’s bodies were in various stages of undress, clothing torn, and usually bloody. He grimaced in disgust when he saw how young some of them were.
“I guess we know why the other neighborhood has their barricades up,” Dranko said, shaking his head.
“Yeah. I wonder who did this. I’m guessing amateurs riled up on drugs or drink. A professional gang would be focused on getting money and goods right now; not random stuff like this,” Cooper conjectured in response.
“You’re probably right. I just wish someone would cover these bodies up.”
The wheels of the truck crunched broken glass as they wove their way around obstacles in the road.
As they neared the area where Julianne lived, both men saw something that made them exhale in shock. Dranko’s came out as a low whistle.
A police car, with two officers, was driving towards them.
Neither had seen any police in over a week. Cooper let the shotgun rest on the floorboard so that he could ensure his hands remained in a casual position.
“Must be nice to live in such a high-class part of town?” Dranko quipped.
“You know what they say, the last place you’ll still find the police in bad times and the tax collector in good times is where the rich folk live.”
Dranko looked at him quizzically, “Who’s the they? I’ve never heard that before.”
“My father,” Cooper said as both men laughed.
Their faces turned serious and they looked straight ahead as the police cruiser drove past them. They could feel their eyes dressing them down. Thankfully, the car kept going.
Cooper instructed Dranko to park a half block away from Julianne’s house. He stuffed the shotgun under the seat and they locked the doors. The street was deserted, quiet. It looked like it probably had before the plague had struck. Cars were still parked neatly in driveways and along the street. Windows and doors were all intact and closed. Halfway down the street, a neatly stenciled wooden sign beseeching, “God Forgive Us!” was the only evidence that something was amiss in the world.
As they approached the home, he had Dranko remain out of sight. If Julianne was home, he figured it would be smoother that way. She lived in an ornate Victorian home. The outside walls came alive with a deep chocolate trim, silver-painted scallops, and red accents. Leaded glass windows with a chevron motif and a wraparound porch completed the idyllic view.
Cooper climbed the stairs and rang the doorbell. He waited. Then, he rapped on the door and heard the sounds reverberate throughout the home. He did so a second time before whistling for Dranko to come forward.
The two men didn’t exchange a word as Cooper backed away from the door and did his best to nonchalantly shield Dranko from any passerby’s view. Dranko immediately went to work with his lock pick tools and had the door open in less than a minute. They stepped inside. The wood floors shined, conveying warmth and security. A skinny rug ran the length of the hallway and led away from the door to a large foyer. The hallway and foyer were sparsely furnished. The furniture screamed “eco-friendly” at them; made from recycled and natural materials. Art decorated the walls, depicting the natural world in all of its splendor. Opposite the front door, an impressive painting of a white birch forest with a majestic buck commanding the scene, dominated the wall with its size and grace. Scattered on the other walls were paintings depicting sea turtles, an eagle, wildflower fields, waterfalls, and other animals. Muted light shone in through a phalanx of windows on the south wall.
“Feels like a shrine, don’t it,” Dranko whispered in awe. Cooper nodded slowly.
As previously agreed, Dranko stayed at the door, just inside, as a lookout. Cooper would do the searching. He found the den on the first floor and headed there first.
The den had two stout oak doors that opened inward. Cooper almost bumped into the door when he tried to open it and, unexpectedly, he discovered it was locked. He whistled for Dranko and indicated the locked door. As Dranko came over to work on it, Cooper replaced him at the front door post. Seconds ticked by, without event outside. Cooper saw one vehicle drive by, a large SUV loaded up with a family and what must have been all of their worldly possessions. Getting out of dodge, eh? Cooper didn’t think they’d make it very far. Their overloaded vehicle was just begging for the attention of every petty criminal out there. Candy store on wheels.
Dranko clucked his lips to get Cooper’s attention. He turned and saw that the door was open. As they passed each other once again, Dranko whispered, “Complex lock on that bad boy.” Cooper nodded, his anticipation growing. He took a deep breath before stepping into the room.
Two of the four walls were lined with nine foot tall bookcases. A quick scan revealed a myriad of books on philosophy, history, politics, environmental sciences, physics, and current events. Curiously, he saw only one shelf that contained works of fiction. With such an extensive library, he would have expected at least a few shelves dedicated to fiction. Of those, they were all of the classical variety, the likes of Shakespeare, Chekhov, and Dickens. An avid reader himself, when he had the time, he was immediately impressed with the size and scope of Julianne’s collection.
The wall opposite the door contained a large leaded glass window, half of which was a beautiful stained glass picture depicting Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders. This portion rose so high, it would have prevented easy inspection of this room from the outside. The top of the window allowed bright sunlight into the room which, when combined with the colors from the stained glass, bestowed a sacred aura to the room.
However, it was the wall immediately to his left which proved the most intriguing. Half of the wall was blanketed by a large whiteboard. Writings and diagrams were festooned across it. The other half of the wall was a confused mélange of magazine and newspaper articles. Cooper was stunned by the blizzard of information before him. He blankly ambled over to the solid oak desk that dominated the middle of the room. He leaned against it so that he could digest the wall’s contents.
He quickly ascertained that the focus for the display was environmental degradation. Headlines blaring about pollution, toxins, oil spills, and acid rain were scattered about. However, the most common were articles, pictures, and headlines focused on global warming and its effects. One blazoned phrase in the middle of the whiteboard was, “Global Warming = Climate Chaos.” Right next to that clarion call, a much smaller phrase in red ink required him to take two steps forward to read it. “Worst marketing failure ever. They needed to call it based upon what it would make happen. Stupid scientists!” Cooper cocked his head when he realized that the handwriting looked like it’d been written by a man.