Chapter 6

(A/N – only 830 words of this chapter count since most of it was a flash fiction I wrote over the summer. I changed a few details and added others from this story, like Bab's falling into depression, finding Bill, and the Baltimore locations stuff. I also changed the POV from first person to third, but it is pretty close to the original "Pandemic Five" of a person discovering they missed the end of the world. Hope you enjoy.)

^..^

Babs sunk into a deeper depression as days turned into two weeks. She had called every hospital and urgent care clinic until they stopped answering her calls. Bill was nowhere to be found and she grieved that he was dead. She couldn't even go to the hospital in person because that was forbidden. The news blasted out the alerts that the whole world was housebound again. Quarantine level two restrictions were expected to change to level one soon. Babs spat the last of the toothpaste in the sink then muttered a curse as she watched the foamy mess go down the drain, barely listening to the warnings.

"Under the tightening protocols, the Federal Quarantine Department has announced that all residences and businesses marked with a blue index card sized notice are considered contaminated zones and should not be entered under any circumstances. The FQD has..."

Babs worked in isolation as the sole library on-site staff for months, so the Federal Quarantine Department's latest lockdown restrictions meant nothing to her daily routine of caretaker of the books of Enoch Pratt Library. She could order anything she needed from Amazan delivered to the library, but she didn't order her groceries from them, because her therapist told her she needed to leave her home once per week. She wondered if her therapist would call next Thursday. It wasn't like Dr. Merced to miss calling like he had this week or last week. When he called, she could tell him her weekly requirement to get out of the library was met. She planned to retrieve her groceries and medications without having an anxiety attack. It gave her a goal for the day.

While the announcer droned on in an overly serious tone, she opened her kitchen cabinets. Today was her day to pick up a grocery order, meds from the pharmacy, and enjoy an hour outside. She had a package or two of ramen noodles, small can of organic bean soup, some crackers, and a half-eaten box of fig newtons. She couldn't even make more noodles because she was out of flour. After checking the security cameras, she shrugged into her coat and put on her mask and gloves, determined to go out anyway. People went out all the time during the last four pandemics and she needed her orders or tomorrow she would starve. She was shocked to find two cat hairs on her sleeve.

Sighing, as she walked, she hoped the grocery had coffee and creamer or tea this time. She was tired of instant powdered coffee-flavored drink. It was cold but she would endure it just to be outside again. The wind blew between the brownstones and leaves tumbled and twirled in spiral dances down the street as she walked. The bright sunlight didn't warm her at all. When she got to the pharmacy, the door was unlocked, but the store was empty.

"Hello? Mr. Ocampo?"

No one answered and she wondered if he had gone out to make a delivery and forgotten to lock up. Shaking her head, Babs pulled what she wanted off the shelves, including a new box of fig newtons and some toothpaste, then she used the punch code for the button lock on the counter door, and got her prescriptions out of a labeled bin. After she scanned her purchases and paid with a card, she put them in her backpack. She was grateful for the overnights she spent as a cashier to make extra money for her student loan debt. Walking out, she noticed a blue index card on the door. In the back of her mind, Babs vaguely remembered something about them on the news.

Ignoring it, she headed to Lerling's Grocery Basket. In the distance she heard popping sounds. Their rapid staccato sounded like drumsticks on metal far away. As she walked, Babs noticed more blue cards. Lerling's Grocery was closed with no lights on. She guessed the owners hadn't found anyone to work after Bill died and she wiped away a tear that he didn't make it. Since she couldn't pick up her order, she trudged back north and over a block. Pulling her scarf tighter around her face and neck, it seemed colder than the weather forecast predicted. She decided she would just have to get what she could at the Asian Market on the way home.

There were a few people ambling about in the distance, but Babs ignored them like they ignored her. They seemed to be hurrying toward the noise as more of the drumming popping sound echoed discordantly around the brownstones and down the streets. The Asian Market was also empty. As Babs opened the door, blue confetti danced across the floor.

"Mrs. Tran? Mr. Tran? I'm here for my order. Hello? It's Babette Bland from the library, I came for my order," she repeated loudly. No one answered.

The owners weren't there, and neither was their usual clerk. She went into the back and up to the apartment above. No one was home. In the storeroom behind the main store, the pickup orders were meticulously organized by address. Babs noticed her elderly neighbor had an order too, so she put them both in a shopping cart, along with the part from the glass front cooler. She grabbed some extra ramen, bean soup dry mixes, and containers of wheat flour, buckwheat flour, tapioca, and rice flour, then left a note before she started home. Babs knew Mrs. Tran would just bill her online account as she had done since pandemic four.

Strolling up Park Avenue, Babs saw no one else as she went to the library back entrance. She was grateful the homeless drunk who bit her sleeve had not come back. Autumn was always her favorite time of year, but she did not regret not going to the park today because the wind was so cold.

First, she walked downstairs to her little apartment where she put her groceries away, before she went to the brownstone where Mrs. Pratt lived. There was a sealed card with her name on it and a bag of books just inside the entry between the two doors. Opening the card, Babs read her shaking script.

"Babette,

I decided to go see the grandkids before those paranoid doctors shut down the country again. Sorry about missing Sunday Brunch and Tea.

Please hold my ordered books, I'll call when I get back.

Thank you, stay safe, Mattilda Pratt."

Carrying Mrs. Pratt's groceries back to the library, Babs left the books in the bag to be sterilized as she did with all the books that went out then came back. She decided she would put Mattilda's groceries in her home as she tucked the dozen eggs next to her own because they wouldn't keep. She got the key out and went back to Mattilda's to put everything away, tucking the yeast-preserved perishable items in the refrigerator. The milk, butter, lunch meat, cheese, or bread all contained Pharaoh's Yeast Extract. It surprised her how little contaminated food Mattilda had in her cabinets. The elderly woman seemed to make much of her food from scratch like she did. Babs hoped Mattilda made it home safely as she left a note and locked the door behind her.

At the library services desk, there were no emails requesting book deliveries, so she didn't bother to check the charge of the electric car she used for deliveries. She wouldn't be leaving so it was pointless; everything felt pointless. With Mattilda gone, Babs didn't even have someone she could call and talk to. Suddenly realizing she was alone on the whole block made her sense of loneliness seem overwhelming and she sat down to cry. Then she went upstairs to the second floor and sat in the window staring out at the trees across the street, watching the leaves torn off and carried away by the wind.

As the sun set, she skipped dinner, took her anti-depressants and then tuned her flat screen to her favorite National Park scenery playlist and began jogging on her elliptical since she couldn't jog around the park. She spent hours running through the places she had never visited and might never get to visit since the National Parks had been closed to visitors since the third pandemic. Finally, her legs gave out and she fell painfully. Laying on the floor, she clutched her arm and wept. Without showering, she crawled into bed and curled in a ball.

The next morning, Babs walked through the library like a robot, checking the return bin by the door. It was still empty. She swept up the leaves by the front door that had blown into the entry and then swept the loading and delivery dock. Her Amazan order hadn't come, and she could get no response to her emails about when it would be delivered. Bored, she spent four hours sending emails to or leaving voice mails for those with overdue books again, then she dusted the second and third-floor bookshelves just to keep busy. In the late afternoon, she heard a siren and shooting. Peeking out of the window, Babs saw a car careen around a corner then speed down the street the wrong way as a military hummer pursued it. She watched the car chase vanish from view while she wondered what fool thought they could get away with breaking curfew because it was after four p.m.

Babs reset the lighting to auto-dim at sunset instead of turning on, because there was no point having the lights up if no one could come in. When they dimmed, she went downstairs to eat dinner. Every day was the same, check for book request, clean shelves, and read books she hadn't read before. In the evenings, she watched the library's archive of Halmark movies and missed everything she and Bill would never have.

One week later, the news seemed to be on repeat.

Same warning about staying inside and having no contact with people. Beware of the places marked with blue cards... blah blah blah, Babs thought grumpily.

She only watched to get the weather forecast on the day she needed to leave the library. Her therapist said she should avoid the news and social media at all costs because it triggered her anxiety. She didn't need to go to the pharmacy again, and the park was out, but she was determined to pick up her groceries from the Asian Market since her Amazan order never came. Going out, it felt much colder than the weather segment said as she pushed the cart back to the store. Again, she saw no one. Babs looked up at the few leaves still clinging to a tree then she bumped something with the cart she was taking back to the Market. At first, she thought it was a mannequin then she saw all of it, or rather him.

A man... a dead man with his skin turned mottled. Black tears had leaked from his eyes and dried like cheap makeup. His leg was sticking out from the pile of trash bags on which he fell. Leaves were piled around him. His teeth were clenched and bared as black-purple lips pulled back in a grimace. There was a hole in his forehead. Babs had never seen a dead body before. Jumping back, she sprinted to the Asian Market as she dialed 9-1-1 on her cell phone. No one answered, just the same recording telling her no operators were available.

"Help me," she yelped as she stumbled in the door. "Mrs. Tran... Mr. Tran? Anyone?!"

The Asian Market looked exactly as she had left it. It was so eerie. No one was here either. Panicked, Babs ran from door to door, begging for help while listening to the 9-1-1 recording telling her, to leave a message and response would be delayed. No one answered the doors of the homes she knocked on. She was completely alone. Her panic turned to shock and her emotions shut down as she acted on auto-pilot.

Going to the back of the Asian Market, she noticed for the first time the power was out. She opened one and then vomited in the bin by the desk, realizing something was very wrong. She could smell the rotting fresh food in the delivery bags and coolers. The only ones missing were the ones she had taken. Mr. and Mrs. Tran would never willingly leave their home and the store they had spent decades running after immigrating from the Philippines unless someone made them leave.

Filling another cart with coffee, tea, bags of flour and sugar, containers of nuts, and boxes of noodles safe for her to eat, she piled the last of the unspoiled, untreated apples and vegetables on top and was glad the cool temps saved them. She took everything she could eat without triggering her yeast allergy. She pushed the overloaded cart and went home on the opposite side of the street from the body. Stopping at the pharmacy, Babs was shocked to see the shelves were ransacked. Someone had taken all the narcotics from the pharmacy. Not knowing when she would be able to get more, she took two one-thousand-count bottles of her anti-depressant, the three Epipens from the shelf, and all of her kind of allergy medication and rescue inhaler refills. She took vitamins to stave of malnutrition, feminine hygiene products, then piled more coffee, tea, noodles, and nuts in her carts, anything without yeast or Pharaoh's Yeast extract in it, and then her panicking mind pointed out she couldn't push both carts, she needed the car. She hurried home with her first load of stolen supplies and her medications.

Looking up at the sky, she remembered the solar panels on the library roof that powered the block as she wondered how long the power had been out. That was when she noticed a blue card on the barred security door of Mrs. Pratt's building. Leaving the cart, Babs looked at it carefully.

"By FQD orders, all residents are to shelter in place due to risk of exposure. The National Guard will instruct you when to report to Ravens Arena for evacuation. If a member of your family experiences sudden death, remove the body immediately and place it in a locked room or secured basement until it can be removed by authorities." The instructions for decontaminating oneself followed, along with bizarre instructions to decapitate or incinerate corpses immediately so they would not revive. It sounded crazy.

Abandoning her cart, Babs rushed across the street. The Archdiocese Office building was unlocked and strangely empty. There was no power in this building, so she climbed up seven flights of stairs to the roof and looked toward the US40 and I-83 interchange. There were no cars on the overpass bridge or moving on the side roadways. Turning toward the Inner Harbor area, there were no boats on the water or helicopters in the air, or contrails from jets in the sky; nothing to show that she wasn't completely alone. Panting, she went down the stairs slower. Shakily, she pushed the cart inside trying to remember the name of a movie she thought Will Smith was in. She could only remember him going building to building with a dog looking for canned goods and telling it to eat its vegetables. She feared she would be doing that soon. As the door closed behind her, Babs sat on the floor and cried for several minutes. She made herself get up and fetched her keys and the keys Bill had given her.

Driving back to the pharmacy, she loaded the car, then went to Lerling's Grocery Basket. There were a few burnt cars in the parking lot and the windows on the front were smashed. Babs parked in the rear grocery pickup area and used Bill's keys to open the door. The main part of the store looked like it had been looted but the shrink-wrapped pallets on the upper shelves of the warehouse part had been left alone. She carried a basket through the aisle gathering bags of rice and beans. Most of the food left behind and not smashed on the floor was stuff she couldn't eat. Going back into the warehouse part, she used her flashlight to look at the pallets. Most of it looked like pet food. There were a few pallets of cooking foil, toilet paper, paper and plastic dishes, and other non-food items. There was also a single pallet labeled "Babette" in spray paint on the top shelf. She would need a ladder to get up to it. Since she didn't know how long the power had been out, she held her breath as she opened the walk-in freezer.

Flashing her phone flashlight around, she froze in horror. Bill was slumped in the corner. He had lied to her about going to the hospital. Without his mask on, she could see the discoloration around his mouth and the black tears that seeped from his eyes. His body was bloated and putrefying as it thawed. Sobbing gags choked Babs as she ran out, tripping over her basket of beans and rice. She left it behind and drove back to the library like a mad woman. Unloading everything into the hall, she unpacked it and sprayed it with cans of sanitizing spray, while crying in heaving sobs into her mask.

Afterward, she followed the decontamination instructions on the blue FQD card, then she turned on the tv again. Every four hours the same news broadcast repeated, so she went upstairs to the computer area. On the internet, she read horrific stories of mass deaths globally. The Centers for Disease Control and World Health Organization was saying it was some kind of fungus-caused pneumonia that spread to the eyes and mouth like thrush. The fact that the library was off the grid to save money had staved off her realization that the city power shut down six days ago. Sequestered in her anti-media bubble, the one her therapist suggested she create to keep her anxiety at bay during Pandemic Four, Babette Bland had not known the world ended.