Read Sympatico Syndrome (Book 1): Infection (A Pandemic Survival Novel) for Free Online Page B

a robber, so he left the mask dangling again and used one of the anti-microbial wipes near the front door of the store to thoroughly wipe down his shopping cart.
    While swabbing the handle, he created mental lists of what they’d need for an extended stay on the island. He prayed it wouldn’t be more than a month or two, and even more, he prayed that he was wrong. If he were mistaken, Sean and Jenna would be out of jobs. His brother’s business would likely be ruined, and Jenna would be fired from the hospital. Granted, as a nurse, she’d probably be able to find another job, but her references would be shot. He’d do whatever he could to build Sean’s business back up, but it would be tough. The weight of the responsibility threatened to crush his resolve.
    What if Elly was wrong? What if his hunches were garbage? Hunter was in college, and he’d probably fail since he’d miss the last three weeks, including finals. Cole pushed that from his mind. So, it was a wasted semester. They could deal with that and Hunter could make it up eventually.
    As he pushed the cart through the store, he found that the crowd he’d expected wasn’t there. Sure, there were other people, but fewer than on an average day at this time. Maybe people’s first instincts were to just hunker down at home for a few days? If that was the case, he was grateful for it because it meant less chance of coming into contact with someone who might be harboring the virus. He found himself in the food area of the store and loaded flour and sugar, salt, spices, bags of cornmeal, quinoa, rice, and dried lentils to the cart. He added four large boxes of baking soda, baking powder, cornstarch, and vanilla, cleaned off the shelf of bags walnuts, peanuts, and pecans. He put gallons of cooking oil on the bottom of the cart, hoping they wouldn’t fall off as he pushed the cart to another aisle.
    He was glad for his great credit because he didn’t have to worry about cost too much. He had a feeling the bills would never arrive. If they did, it would be a cause for celebration.
    The food cart was brimming once he added cans of fruits, vegetables, and as much tuna and salmon as he could find. He parked it in an empty aisle near the underwear and socks, hoping it would remain untouched until he finished getting other supplies. Leaving the cart, he took his second one and headed towards the camping section.
    He tallied the projected cost and gave a low whistle. He’d barely even begun and was already hundreds of dollars down.
    What would people who didn’t have cash on hand do? Or if they had crappy credit? Then he realized that most wouldn’t be able to stock up on anything because once everyone realized what was happening, riots would break out and looting would run rampant. Shit. He stopped dead in the middle of the aisle as the gravity of the situation slammed into him, nearly buckling his knees. He gripped the blue handle of the cart, his knuckles blanching.
    Fluffy towels in every color of the rainbow lay stacked on tables on one side of the aisle, and fragrant candles were displayed on endcaps on the other side. Cole swallowed hard and fought to make his legs work again. The soft clink of glass candle holders drew his gaze to an employee with a cart full of more candles. The young man arranged them on shelves as if it mattered. The scent of pine, vanilla, and some sweet flowery aroma warred with the taste of bile in the back of Cole’s throat.
    Had today been the last normal day of his life? Of everyone’s lives? Every customer and employee he passed became a future casualty. He mourned them even as they chatted and laughed while they shopped or worked.
    He shook his head. Focus . Cole pried his hands from the handle, gave them a shake, flexing his fingers, then re-gripped the handle, pushing his fear into the recesses of his mind, locking it away until safety and survival were secured. He didn’t have time to give in to fear now. Not if he wanted to