Read Online Endemic Rise of the Plague by Jeannie Rae - Free Book Online
Authors: Jeannie Rae
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cups. Music from a Mariachi band blared so loud that Randy could feel the vibrations pulsing through his body as they neared the house.
Approaching the porch, Randy glanced in the window and could see a glow flickering from a candle on the coffee table in the living room. The aroma of a freshly cooked meal permeated through the open window, but nothing could be heard. Not the sounds of conversation, nor plates or silverware clanking, only an eerie quiet. Shotgun pressed the doorbell and stood back from the door. The bell sounded, but then silence. The men looked at each other guardedly.
Randy knocked on the door, his knock—loud and swift.
KNOCK! KNOCK!
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
No answer. Randy shrugged, palming the door knob, he rotated it, finding it unlocked. With caution, he pressed open the door, nodding at Shotgun, before entering the Bishop home.
The front door opened up into the dimly lit living room, the floor sporting a golden-brown clay tile. The home shimmered by the light of the candle, displaying two dark brown, plush couches. A cherry wood coffee table served as a focal point between the sofas with an ivory candle centered atop. Wax drizzles spilled from the candle onto the table, creating a sizable wax pool that swallowed the base of the candle. With no sign of the Bishops in this room, the men pressed on.
On the left, a stair case that led to the pitch-black second floor, and straight ahead—the entrance to the kitchen, the only room in the house with a light on—and the light glowed dim at best. No door on the entrance to the kitchen, instead shutters were hung, giving off the feeling of Wild West saloon. Progressing quietly toward the kitchen area, Randy pressed one of the shutters open. To the right, stood a dining room table with four chairs and place settings. Casserole dishes of mashed potatoes and stuffing, a silver platter with a roast, and a glass bowl of tossed salad, were laid out upon the table. Steam still drifted off of the roast. Randy passed through the shutters into the dining area with Shotgun just behind.
As they drew close to the dining table, a faint but noticeable slurping originated from behind them.
Instinctively, both men turned around and drew their firearms immediately. They said nothing, struggling to fathom the scene before their eyes by the faint light of the overhead, stove lamp. Shotgun began exhaling sharply. Randy, staring straight ahead and tapping his left hand on Shotgun's shoulder, made a fist and held it in the air for just a moment before returning it to his gun. A sign to wait. Shotgun appeared to realize his labored breathing and began getting it in check.
“ What the hell is this?” Shotgun muttered under his breath.
Randy momentarily eyeballed him and slowly shook his head as if to convey not to speak. Standing fast in their positions, they analyzed the four people that were , perhaps, all set to eat this steaming dinner when the evening took a murderous turn.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Junior sat restlessly in the passenger seat of the SUV, fidgeting with excitement. Something important is going on, I just know it. He knew better than to blurt out whatever popped into his head when he rode along with Rhino. The other guys didn't so much mind Junior's enthusiasm, but Rhino had very little tolerance for it. It wasn’t only Rhino’s massive stature that intimidated Junior, it was his entire demeanor. Standing at a six foot-eleven, weighing around 330 pounds, Rhino is a titan of a man—nearly a foot taller and more than a hundred pounds heavier than Junior.
“ Is there a number?” Rhino said with a sigh of contempt.
Junior tilted his head in confusion, “A number?”
Rhino took a deep breath, “Yeah, a phone number. Maybe you could take a break from all that bouncing around in the seat over there, and give Swick a call to see if he is even at home.”
“ Yeah, I'll call his cell.” Junior eagerly dialed the phone, which went straight to voice mail.
Approaching the porch, Randy glanced in the window and could see a glow flickering from a candle on the coffee table in the living room. The aroma of a freshly cooked meal permeated through the open window, but nothing could be heard. Not the sounds of conversation, nor plates or silverware clanking, only an eerie quiet. Shotgun pressed the doorbell and stood back from the door. The bell sounded, but then silence. The men looked at each other guardedly.
Randy knocked on the door, his knock—loud and swift.
KNOCK! KNOCK!
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
No answer. Randy shrugged, palming the door knob, he rotated it, finding it unlocked. With caution, he pressed open the door, nodding at Shotgun, before entering the Bishop home.
The front door opened up into the dimly lit living room, the floor sporting a golden-brown clay tile. The home shimmered by the light of the candle, displaying two dark brown, plush couches. A cherry wood coffee table served as a focal point between the sofas with an ivory candle centered atop. Wax drizzles spilled from the candle onto the table, creating a sizable wax pool that swallowed the base of the candle. With no sign of the Bishops in this room, the men pressed on.
On the left, a stair case that led to the pitch-black second floor, and straight ahead—the entrance to the kitchen, the only room in the house with a light on—and the light glowed dim at best. No door on the entrance to the kitchen, instead shutters were hung, giving off the feeling of Wild West saloon. Progressing quietly toward the kitchen area, Randy pressed one of the shutters open. To the right, stood a dining room table with four chairs and place settings. Casserole dishes of mashed potatoes and stuffing, a silver platter with a roast, and a glass bowl of tossed salad, were laid out upon the table. Steam still drifted off of the roast. Randy passed through the shutters into the dining area with Shotgun just behind.
As they drew close to the dining table, a faint but noticeable slurping originated from behind them.
Instinctively, both men turned around and drew their firearms immediately. They said nothing, struggling to fathom the scene before their eyes by the faint light of the overhead, stove lamp. Shotgun began exhaling sharply. Randy, staring straight ahead and tapping his left hand on Shotgun's shoulder, made a fist and held it in the air for just a moment before returning it to his gun. A sign to wait. Shotgun appeared to realize his labored breathing and began getting it in check.
“ What the hell is this?” Shotgun muttered under his breath.
Randy momentarily eyeballed him and slowly shook his head as if to convey not to speak. Standing fast in their positions, they analyzed the four people that were , perhaps, all set to eat this steaming dinner when the evening took a murderous turn.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Junior sat restlessly in the passenger seat of the SUV, fidgeting with excitement. Something important is going on, I just know it. He knew better than to blurt out whatever popped into his head when he rode along with Rhino. The other guys didn't so much mind Junior's enthusiasm, but Rhino had very little tolerance for it. It wasn’t only Rhino’s massive stature that intimidated Junior, it was his entire demeanor. Standing at a six foot-eleven, weighing around 330 pounds, Rhino is a titan of a man—nearly a foot taller and more than a hundred pounds heavier than Junior.
“ Is there a number?” Rhino said with a sigh of contempt.
Junior tilted his head in confusion, “A number?”
Rhino took a deep breath, “Yeah, a phone number. Maybe you could take a break from all that bouncing around in the seat over there, and give Swick a call to see if he is even at home.”
“ Yeah, I'll call his cell.” Junior eagerly dialed the phone, which went straight to voice mail.
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