She was a murderer. There was no way around that label. She would always be a murderer for the rest of her life. Was she going to kill in every stressful situation?
She probably needed to be locked up and kept away from society.
But it dawned on her that she had been off her meds. Her meds had kept her from becoming a butcher.
She began to have slight control over her turbulent thoughts, enough to realize she needed to calm down, center herself, and logically figure out her next step. To do that, she would need to meditate and seek guidance. She realized just how dependent on her spirit guides she had become.
So, she sat upright in the Egyptian pose, bloody palms face down on her knees, and tried to relax, though that was difficult because she desperately wanted to rush into the meditation. But she required a deep meditative state if she were to gather her wits, if nothing else. She relaxed and gained patience in incremental steps in a positive feedback loop, eventually attaining the state of relaxation she desired. She counted herself down into meditation and asked to go to her Inner Temple, and she transported there in an instant.
Chapter Ten
Day Zero
Janice Fernley had recognized Jize Chen, the famous concert pianist, as soon as he walked into her store. A big fan and frequent attendee of his concerts, she wasn’t the type to fawn over celebrities. Not that she didn’t want to, but she knew they must get that all the time, and while some may find it flattering, most of them wanted to be left alone.
A childless widow, she found it difficult to empathize with Chen very much, but she needed help to survive . . . whatever this was. If this were terrorism, there were a lot of terrorists. Usually these kinds of attacks blew over in an hour or two, but she had a feeling . . . not this time.
She recalled the lotto tickets above and behind her, on the wall. If only she won the lottery, it would get her out of this miserable life. With few friends, and no family, all she had was her cat.
Twenty-two years alone now. Twenty-two years without Rob. Twenty-two years with no one.
She allowed herself a little pride at keeping Chen from getting himself killed. Or giving up their location.
Janice peered over the counter and saw these terrorists—or zombies, as Chen called them—breaking glass on buildings and entering and exiting them through front doors. It was only a matter of time before they came into the store and spotted them. She clicked the roof of her mouth with her tongue—something she always did when thinking—and wondered where would be a good place to hide out. The bathrooms would be too obvious, but she did have an uncomfortable idea.
“I know a better place to hide,” she whispered. “Come with me to the back.”
“Where are we going?” He also peered outside, clearly horrified by the attack on his family. But they couldn’t afford the luxury of his grieving.
“Somewhere I think they won’t find us. Crawl with me.”
She turned around on her hands and knees and crawled to a swinging double-door. If he didn’t follow her, she didn’t want to wait. So she didn’t look back as, once she entered the refrigerated cooler area, she stood up and made a break for the walk-in freezer. She opened the door, and, to her relief, Chen appeared right behind her.
They both scampered in and closed the door. She looked at the door handle. It didn’t lock from the inside.
“Help me stack these crates in front of the door,” she said. They went about that work, and the ones they put on top were too heavy for them to lift above their heads, so they had to empty them.
Once they finished, the cold air felt good as she had warmed up from lifting the crates, and they hid behind two large crates not used for the barricade.
But she shuddered as the cold settled in. She had left her jacket in the kitchen and hadn’t thought to pick it up off its peg as she went in.
“Here.” Chen took off his jacket. “You can have this.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” Yes, she could.
Chen shrugged. “I like the cold—or, well, I tolerate it quite well.”
Janice appreciated the lie. As she lived in Beaver Park, she was able to tolerate the cold, but only with lots of clothing on. She doubted he lived in an area that cold in the winter—she guessed New York—but she accepted the coat.
Then heavy footsteps came from outside.
The door to the freezer opened, and a strong smell of rotten meat assaulted Janice’s nose. Maybe Chen was right—this was a zombie, not a terrorist. Or simply a foul-smelling terrorist. Which was more likely?
The zombie/terrorist couldn’t see through the crates, but it could move them (the top ones empty and light), search the place, and find them.
But the door closed, and she heard footsteps walking away.
She breathed a sigh of relief, but realized . . .
“We should wait,” she whispered. “Others may come by.”
Chen nodded, breathing deeply, his breath coming out as white vapor. He shivered, and she resolved to give him back his jacket if they were in there for a while.
Janice decided it best to pass the time talking and getting to know each other. She noticed the condensation of her own breath as she whispered, “Do you have other—”
“Other family?” he whispered.
She nodded. She knew he had a deceased wife, but she didn’t want to let on she knew about him.
“I have a daughter and a son.”
“What are their names?”
He shook as he whispered, “John and Julia.”
“Do you believe they—”
He glared at her. “I don’t want to think about it right now. Right now, all I’m thinking about is staying here till the police come.”
“What if they don’t come?” she asked, while thinking she wasn’t sure if she
