LAST
(Tales of the Derry Plague: One)
Ray Anselmo
LAST
(Tales of the Derry Plague: One)
by Ray Anselmo
© 2021 Million Dreams Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher. All characters except for historical figures are fictional – any resemblance between the fictional characters and actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover design by EDH Designs.
License Notes
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
1
FLU
2
BODIES
3
SEARCH
4
PYRE
5
ALONE
6
TALK
7
DARK
8
PACK
9
BLOOD
10
TRAFFIC
11
HIKE
12
DRUGS
13
JOURNAL
14
TRUCK
15
SKED
16
CATS
17
BANG
18
ENNUI
19
POINT
20
SIGN
21
PLAN
22
TRAVEL
23
CITY
24
FEAR
25
THOUSANDS
26
HOME
About the Author
1
FLU
Kelly Sweeney, by her own admission, didn’t have much of a social life. She worked, then went back to one of the houses she was sitting and watched movies. Two or three times a year, she went on a date, which never worked out but broke up the monotony a little. She’d visit her parents in Oklahoma at Christmas, and occasionally this or that friend from college who lived nearby. And she had her Facebook and Twitter and Reddit “friends.” That was about all.
It was fine. Not ideal, but fine. She’d given up on ideal several years before.
So not getting a call or a text for several days didn’t register as unusual. Were it not for work, she might go months without one. Not that she wanted any contact much lately. That’s what came from getting what she thought was the worst case of the flu she’d ever had. To think that last winter she’d made a point to drive to the Walgreen’s in San Rafael just to get the shot. Now it was August and here she was, flat on her face, wishing she’d just die already and get it over with.
No luck. She couldn’t manage to die. Oh well.
Not that she could manage to do much of anything else. Sleep. Drink an occasional glass of juice or water. Drag herself to the bathroom and back. Whenever she considered checking in with the folks at the store or calling someone, the thought drifted right back out of her head and she went back to sleep again. In general, she felt like she’d been run over by a steamroller and was about a half-inch thick.
She suffered like that for six days. The only reason she knew how long was because she woke up often enough to count the nights. Monday morning, when she arose feeling like organically grown non-GMO hell, she’d called into Sayler Beach Necessities & Novelties and told Ganj that his general manager was under the weather and he was in charge until she felt better. (His real name was Grant, but everyone called him “Ganj” after he got busted for selling marijuana a few years ago. Everyone thought it was hilarious, including Ganj, since in Marin County nailing someone for dope was like arresting someone for breathing. It was about as common.)
Despite his affinity for the devil’s lettuce (uncurbed by his brush with the law), Ganj was a generally reliable manager. Kelly knew he’d keep the place clean, the stock rotated, the orders coming in. She’d have to check the books carefully when she got back, because Ganj had a math block the size of El Capitan – he did his best, but somewhere along the line he’d forget to carry a one or transpose a couple of numbers. Even using a spreadsheet didn’t help. But she was prepared to tackle that.
Well, after six days of feeling like lukewarm death, she could start pondering the idea of thinking about being prepared to tackle that. Setting realistic goals, that was important. Baby steps. One day at a time. All those clichés.
Sunday morning, she was able to make herself a meal – scrambled eggs, toast, a boiled apple. She ate it all, and kept it all down. Out of curiosity, she went to the bathroom afterward, stepped on the scale and found she was three pounds lighter. Hm. She’d wanted to lose a few, so that was a nice side effect. Then she went back to sleep, exhausted by all that activity.
When she woke, needing to go to the john again, it was almost 3:30 in the afternoon. She thought again about calling the store, but figured she had time – they didn’t close until 7:00 on Sundays. If there was an emergency, they would’ve called or texted …
Wait, did they? She hadn’t checked her phone the whole week. As soon as she was out of the bathroom, she did – and found her battery had died. Well, didn’t that just figure? She plugged it in to charge it and went to lay down with a book.
She woke again at 7:12. Oops. Well, she was still recovering. She called the store anyway, since her phone was good to go, but as expected she got the answering machine. “You’ve reached Sayler Beach Necessities & Novelties, home to all your grocery and tourist needs,” she heard herself say cheerily. “Our hours are from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. Monday through Saturday, 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. Sunday. If
