It was a bad week for Doug. Bob Handley had hung on long past the time they expected him to, but he finally died. Doug was almost glad when he passed away. He had suffered great pain at the end, refusing narcotics so that he could remain coherent. His wife called Doug to tell him when it was over.
“I’m sorry, Joan. He was a good friend. Is there anything I can do?”
“You can kill those bastards that started this if you ever find them,” Mrs. Handley sobbed.
He thought it better not to answer that. Instead, he asked “Are you still feeling all right, Joan? How about the kids?”
“We’re okay so far, Doug, but… oh God, why is this happening? Who could hate us so much?”
Doug had no answer for her, nor did anyone else. The week ended with the Harcourt virus still raging uncontrolled, but with the White House back in the hands of the government.
Doug had spent more time watching that event play out than he should have, missing sleep and then having bad dreams over some of the scenes the cameras showed. The exploding helicopter was what had effectively ended the siege, burning a huge swath through the crowd and stampeding most of the rest of them. Armored personnel carriers began pushing onto the grounds by evening, leading a reinforced paratroop battalion in on foot as it had been decided it was too dangerous to jump in. Even so, the soldiers took casualties from remnants of the mob firing from behind overturned vehicles and windows of buildings, venting their pent up anger in the only way they thought was left to them. Finally, the commander ordered heavy weapons into action. Any place harboring snipers was leveled to the ground.
Automatic sprinklers saved the White house from burning, but there was still damage, a lot of it caused from the army troops who had gone through the building room by room, shooting at anything that moved.
Several clerks and service people who had managed to hide in nooks and crannies from the mob were killed by mistake before it was over.
The carnage outside was sickening. Burned and mutilated bodies lay where they had fallen while more soldiers poured into the area and began clearing and securing an area stretching in a half mile radius around the White House, and clamping heavy controls on an even wider circle. The bodies were still lying where they had fallen when Doug came off duty the next morning. He stayed awake long enough to listen to a bleary eyed president peel off the political gloves and declare martial law in every state of the Union.
Doug fell asleep before he heard the Presidential Press Secretary began reading off a list of executive orders that would take effect the same day.
The phone woke Doug late that afternoon. He yawned as he reached for it.
“Hello. Craddock here.”
“Hi Doug, this is June.”
He laughed sleepily. “I always recognize your voice. What time is it? Never mind, I see the clock. Hey, I’ve slept all day!”
June laughed. “Good. Are you still off for a week?”
“So far. How about you?” He felt a wave of energy surging through his body just from hearing her voice.
“Just the weekend, but you can come over whenever you’re ready.”
“All I need to do is get a shower. What can I bring?”
“Something to drink if you can find anything.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, I guess you haven’t heard. Liquor is going to be rationed. Everyone has been stocking up today.”
“What—never mind. You can catch me up when I get there. How about food?”
“Bring some bread if you have any. I’ve been afraid to go shopping.”
“I could try to find some takeout.”
“Don’t bother. From what I’ve been hearing, and seeing as I drive, I think most of the fast food places are closed, as well as a good many of the restaurants.”
Doug knew she was right. He had seen that happening all week as help didn’t show up and drivers failed to make deliveries. “All right. See you in a bit. Keep your doors locked and your gun handy, even if you are living here now. There’s still lots of nut cases loose and this stuff is making them even loonier than usual.”
“I know. I’ll be careful.”
Doug stripped off his underwear and showered quickly, feeling guilty for not having taken June to a firing range while they had a chance. He had run her through a dry firing exercise, but nothing gave a person a feel for a handgun except actually shooting one. Tomorrow maybe.
Before leaving he bundled up a few items to drop off at the dry cleaners in the complex. He glanced at the dishes in the sink and decided they could wait a little longer. He was anxious to see June now that he was clean and dressed in his usual jeans and jacket. He found a package of frozen dinner rolls in the top of the refrigerator and bagged them, along with a few other items, including a bottle of wine and a fifth of rum. He checked the lock on his gun cabinet and the door and headed for his car. If they could manage it, he intended to escort June back to their apartments in the city to pick up a number of items that were already getting hard to find at the CDC complex.
The dry cleaning store was open, but not taking any new business. The owner was having to do almost all the work by himself and couldn’t handle more customers until he caught up with the backload.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Craddock,” he apologized. Most of my help is either sick, dead, or just left one day and never came back.” Seeing Doug’s stricken look and the size of his laundry bag, he sighed. “All right, you’ve been a good customer. Leave it with me. It will be a day or two longer than usual before it’s ready, though.”
Doug gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks Billy. I really do appreciate it.”
June had moved into one of the CDC transient apartments just in time, Doug thought. From the number of children playing in the halls and outside under the careful eye of the parents, there were probably no vacancies left. He juggled his bundles and rang her doorbell.
“Hi, Doug. You look nice and fresh,” June said as she kissed him lightly. She took his plastic bags of goodies while he held onto the bottles until he was inside and could set them down.
“You look nice and fresh, too—and also very pretty,” he said. She was wearing white shorts and a pale blue blouse with the tails tied across her middle and a pair of flip flops that looked well worn.
“Thank you. Take your jacket off and get comfortable. The power has gone off a few times the last few days. In fact, it’s been off in the apartments for a half hour and just came back on. It was getting so warm in here I decided to break out the shorts.”
Doug wasn’t surprised at the power outages. He had been awake for some of them and knew there would be more and more as time went on. He hung the jacket across the back of a chair, making sure his off duty handgun was easily accessible, and telling June that it was there. After the scenes he had seen of Washington, and with the city population of Atlanta better than fifty per cent black, he wanted to be ready for any contingency, even here, where men that he knew were in charge of security. He had seen re-runs of the Washington mob while dressing, where the press of bodies swept all before them. A handgun probably wouldn’t help in a situation like that, but it was comforting all the same.
“If you’re not hungry yet, dinner can wait,” June said. “I did some chicken breasts and potato salad.”
“Sounds good. Frankly, I could do with a stiff drink. It’s been a long week.”
“I have some coke left if you want to use the rum.”
“That’s fine. How about you?”
“Just one, then I’ll switch to wine.”
Doug found the mix in the refrigerator while June produced glasses. He made the drinks while she busied herself with setting the little table and readying the rolls to brown whenever they decided to eat.
The transient apartments for singles contained a small kitchen, a combination dining nook and living room, a bathroom, and bedroom. The furniture consisted of a small couch and two other chairs, a little dinette set with folding chairs and a television screen on one wall with computer and phone connections. June’s comphone was such a constant companion on the job that with both wireless and manual connections to the big wall screen available, she hadn’t brought her desk unit.
June had already seated herself on the couch by the time Doug finished mixing the drinks. She patted the seat beside her when he handed her the rum and coke, garnished with a slice of lime he had discovered in the vegetable cooler. He sat down, took a big long swallow and sighed.
“Ahhh. I’ve been wanting this the whole week but I don’t like to drink alone.”
“Me, either. I guess you haven’t watched the news yet?”
“Just while I was dressing and that was mostly re-runs.”
“Well, President Marshall issued a number of edicts to go with his martial law. I think some of them will cause problems rather than helping. He declared a night curfew for blacks but not for whites, other than those going to or from work. Can you imagine?”
“Aw shit. Excuse the language, but what in hell can the man be thinking? Doesn’t he know that’s going to just stir them up even more? Not that I can blame them much. Hell, I can’t blame them at all, can you?”
“I guess not. If I were in their position and had been stepped on like they have for 500 years, then been on the receiving end of a virus that was going to kill everyone I held dear… well, you probably wouldn’t have had to give me a gun. I would have gone looking for one.”
Doug sipped at his rum. “Yeah, same here. Still, it’s not our fault, and so long as people of color are all stirred up, we’re going to have to be careful.”
“They’re going to be stirred up even more soon. The staff virologists have definitely determined that the Harcourt virus was deliberately altered, then almost certainly spread intentionally.”
Doug had expected that to become apparent. Still, it was bad news. “Oh, man. That’s sure to get out. A bombshell like that can’t be contained.”
June took a big gulp of her drink, wrinkling her nose a little at how strong it was to her, but taking another taste before setting it down. She turned to Doug, frown lines between her eyebrows showing how troubled she was. She started to speak, hesitated, then decided to go ahead. “Doug, I hate to tell you, but there’s even worse news. And please, don’t repeat this anywhere, okay?”
“Maybe you’d better not tell me if it’s that sensitive.”
“No, I want you to know. Just keep it between us. Okay?”
“All right.”
June sighed, then told him. “The new morbidity reports and transmission projections just came out. The Harcourt virus is still almost one hundred percent fatal—and if the infection rates continue along the same curve as they have so far, we’re going to lose up to a quarter of the world’s population, all within the next six months to a year. That’s if we don’t find a cure.”
Doug grimaced. “How about a vaccine? Couldn’t we immunize anyone who hasn’t caught it?”
“That’s the rest of the bad news. We’ve been running tests on random samples of the population now that we’ve identified the antigenic properties of the virus and… Doug, over half the world is already infected!”
“But how…?” Even having worked for the CDC for a number of years, he wasn’t well versed in the mechanics of infectious diseases.
“It was designed to infect, then become latent for a certain length of time. We’re not real sure of the mechanism there, but it really doesn’t matter. A vaccine wouldn’t help the people who are already carrying it.”
“Good God, I hope that’s all of your bad news,” Doug replied. “I don’t see how we can…” He saw the look on her face. “Oh damn. There’s more, huh?”
“Yes,” June admitted. She blinked back tears before continuing. “Now the ones coming down with the active phase of the disease will begin infecting those who didn’t get it the first time around. We proved that this week.”
Doug shook his head, unable to comprehend how anyone, no matter how evil, could have loosed such a plague on the world. He was speechless for a moment, unable to get his mind around the numbers.
Finally he said, “I can see why you don’t want this getting out. But it will. Nothing that horrible can be kept secret long. My God, June, just think of having to bury that many corpses while civil violence is tearing the country apart! It can’t be done. Unfortunately, I’ve seen situations like that. On a much smaller scale, true, but still…”
“I know. And that’s not all. Secondary infections from unburied bodies and failing health systems will only make it worse.”
“Christ. And what about our transportation system, the trucks and trains and ships and barges that supply the cities? Not even counting the farmers. Before all that breaks down the country better start stockpiling food. So should the CDC.” Doug finished his drink and got up. He headed for the bottle of rum. He picked it up and looked back at June. He saw the concern written on her face.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to get blind drunk and try to wipe the images from my mind, but I do want one more. Then maybe we’d better eat.”
“I agree. Make me another, too—not quite as strong as the last one.”
President Marshall had finished reading the briefing that included the same information June had passed on to Doug. The only other person in the oval office other than a lone secret service agent was Lurline Tedd, his chief of staff.
“What in hell are we going to do about this, Lurline? When this gets out the country will go wild. I don’t know if even the army will be able to hold things together.”
Lurline had already been turning the data over in her mind, running through various options at a speed she had become famous for. She had quickly reached the only decision that made sense. She ran her fingers through her short gray hair, tousling it into a disarrayed tangle that had also become famous and provided gist for the political cartoonists. “We’ve got the ones who started this thing in custody, don’t we?”
“Yeah, the CIA found them a couple of days ago, right back here, all except for that goddamned scientist who created the virus. We lost track of him in South Africa when the country started disintegrating. Hell, Lurline, we even lost contact with our agents who were still searching for him. They’re probably dead by now.”
“Good. No, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. What I meant is that we can use that as a sympathy spin. Make sure a couple of the agents are depicted as black even if they weren’t. Do you know how those crazy bastards were captured?”
“No, but..”
“Never mind, make them out to be heroes regardless of how it actually happened. And be sure to tell the reporters that the geneticist who dreamed this whole thing up was not from the United States. Tell the press we think he was killed in South Africa along with the agents who had captured him. The reporters…”
“Damn it, Lurline, you keep talking about reporters! Why in hell do you want the press in on this? It’s bad enough that all the perpetuators except for that fucking deranged scientist were from America. Why tell the world?”
“Because you’re going to order their public execution, right after a quick and dirty drumhead trial by the army. The sooner the better. I’ll get someone from the legal office to draw up the executive orders governing trials under martial law. We left that out originally. There’s precedents, but best to nail it down tight.”
President Marshall rubbed his chin. The more he thought about the idea, the better he liked it. Trust Lurline to come up with a way to divert public attention from the real issue, at least long enough for the military to get the country under control. A thin, measured smile grew on his face.
“Okay, we’ll do it. How about tomorrow night, prime time, for the execution?”
Lurline considered. “That’ll be fine, but make sure the press gets a transcript of the trial. I’ll use McAllister for that. He used to be a script writer. And make damn certain the players cited in the transcript don’t talk.”
The president smiled again. “I’ll take care of that part of it. No need for you to get involved.”
Lurline didn’t want to know how the lawyers and military judges would be kept silent, but she knew it wouldn’t be hard. Everyone has skeletons in the closet. Besides, she knew that whoever the president used would see to it that the participants in the trial knew what would happen to them if they did break their secrecy oaths. Skeletons would be the least of their problems.