Class of 1989: A Post Viral Apocalyptic Story

by Jack Hunt

  He clicked the button on the projector remote to the next slide of bullet points, preparing to sum up some of the essentials. “So… in summary, the Insect Allies program takes a novel approach to addressing the hazards and issues facing agriculture today, such as drought, pathogens, increased soil salinity, plant disease, herbicides, frost and flooding, through genetically modifying crops in the field using insect vectors and viral manipulation to make a positive impact that we can all benefit from.” He clicked again bringing up a map of Africa showing the areas affected by the fall armyworm, almost two-thirds of it was highlighted. “Imagine being able to stop this from happening before it happens or at the first sign of trouble. In the past combating such an event required an army of planes to spray the affected areas with insecticides but as you know, many of these pests develop a resistance to that, never mind the environmental consequences of using such chemicals.” He clicked again. “Of course there have been other approaches like using birds or burning crops but as we’ve seen, that has never been fast enough.” He clicked the button again. “Besides, that’s just one natural threat plaguing agriculture… but what about intentional threats from pathogens?”

  Eyebrows rose again.

  “We’ve all heard of genetically modified crops and the benefits — a reduction in pesticides, increase in crop yields, resistance to pests and disease, enhanced nutrient composition and food quality. To date, the solution for this has been the lab but that approach is simply not flexible or fast enough to combat rising threats and often doesn’t allow us to see the change until much later.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “But what if the work done in the lab could occur in the field on the fly using insects which apply targeted therapies to mature crops all within a single growing season? No more missed seasons because the crops were ruined the year before, no more quarantines, no more pesticides, no more selective plant breeding or slash-and-burn clearing.” Miles clicked again to reveal a globe illustrating the rise in population.

  “Sustaining the food supply must be at the forefront of our minds as we move toward a growing population of ten billion in the next thirty years. How do we do that when clearly the current model is ineffective and slow?” A few shuffled in their seats, and he could already see the daggers in their eyes. How dare he say it was ineffective. Of course it was working, but that wasn’t his point. DARPA wasn’t concerned with accepting mediocre results, they were forward thinking, innovators and always looking for a better way. It’s what had attracted him to the project in the first place.

  Miles turned away and looked back at the screen as he flashed different images of destroyed crops around the world, and graphs showing the effect on the economy as a whole. Pictures were worth a thousand words. It was one thing to show destroyed plants, another to reveal the correlation of a bad harvest to rising prices.

  “It affects us all.”

  The final screen brought up the three-step approach at the heart of Insect Allies.

  “As you know, there is no getting away from the viruses spread among plants by insects that feed on them, but imagine being able to customize those viruses. This would be done through modifying the insects and getting them to distribute new genes into plants that would in turn edit the genome of the plant using CRISPR technology and make them more resilient to pests, drought and pathogens. Insects such as leafhoppers, aphids and whiteflies are already very effective at moving genetic material into plants, so why don’t we take advantage of that?”

  Someone shouted something.

  Miles squinted, scanning shadowy faces. “What?”

  A scientist leaned forward in his seat, off to his right, in the second row. “I said… the risk of unforeseen mutations in plants, carcinogens, insects that are too hard to control and biowarfare are just a few of the problems.”

  “Biowarfare?”

  The man responded, “Yes. Surely you aren’t so naïve to have not considered the dual purpose of such an approach.”

  Many agreed, at which point a woman at the front chimed in. “The program sounds an awful lot like the research and tests they performed back in the 1950s on ticks and insects over at Plum Island and Fort Detrick. Which I might add is now being investigated since an amendment to the 2020 Defense Authorization Act was approved last year in July.”

  The amendment. Yes. Miles had heard of it. It had created quite the stink. The amendment was an attempt to confirm or deny reports that researchers for the Pentagon had implanted diseases into insects to learn about the effects of biological weapons and look at how they could use them in the Cold War.

  “I’m aware of it. But I might add President Nixon banned biological weapons, the research and development in 1969.”

  “What he did and what still occurs are two different things,” she retorted.

  “That was then, this is now.”

  She smiled and clutched a handheld device. Media. They were like cockroaches, finding their way into all manner of events where they could get a soundbite. DARPA had borne the brunt of many an accusing article. Often it was unfounded, nothing more than hearsay fueled by conspiracy theorists and uneducated quacks.

  The woman smiled. “Now. Then. It’s all the same. Are you familiar with Operation Sea-Spray, the Norfolk Naval Supply Center experiments, Operation Big Buzz, Operation May Day, Operation Drop Kick, Operation Big Itch, Project 112 or the Dugway sheep incident, just to name a few?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “All before 1969,” Miles replied.

  “But history has a way of repeating itself, doctor.”

  Miles knew if he didn’t reel this in fast she’d have a field day with this.

  “Any question you have can be addressed at the end,” he said turning away.

  “Why not spray the plants?” The same scientist who had brought up the first question and its dual usage piped up again.

  “What?” Miles asked, distracted from the final slides on the screen.

  “If the program is benign, why not spray crops? I mean correct me if I’m wrong but it sounds to me as though DARPA could be developing insects as a means of delivering a new form of biological weapon, and when this new technology could affect our food supply, shouldn’t the public be made aware of this?”

  “That’s why I’m here today. And, I’ve already addressed the reason for insects versus spray. DARPA is looking to move away from chemical sprays.”

  “I understand but that doesn’t address the fact that insects can still insert a genetic construct and change the genetic expression as a bioweapon. Whether they are or not, it’s still dangerous because of the lack of control and unforeseen genetic changes. In my mind the justifications are just not clear enough. You can’t say it’s not fraught with potential problems, doctor.”

  “That’s why testing is being conducted inside secure greenhouses. The insect vectors die within a few weeks of their release so control isn’t an issue. These vectors are highly targeted.”

  The woman from the media saw her opportunity to derail the talk. “Secure? Highly targeted? I bet they are. And what if they escape?” Miles stared back at her, contemplating the question.

  “Insect Allies focuses on food security, national security. Trust me, measures have been taken to ensure that would never happen.”

  “Mistakes happen every day, doctor.” She smiled, like a heckler at a comedy club. “Like the anthrax exposure at the CDC in 2014.”

  Refusing to take the bait, he glanced at his watch. “Look, these are all valid points and in developing any new technology there will always exist a dual capability, but what DARPA is looking to do is deliver positive traits, not negative.” The woman opened her mouth and Miles quickly continued. “Well it appears I have gone over my allotted time. Let me just end on this note… the first milestone has been achieved already.” He turned and clicked to the final slide which revealed a fluorescent stalk of corn. “A test was conducted to see whether an aphid could infect the corn with a virus that causes fluorescence. As you can see… it
worked… the corn is glowing.”

  “Oh great, well at least we can look forward to a future where our supper ensures we don’t get run over by evening traffic,” someone bellowed out. The crowd broke into laughter. He smirked but wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. He regretted agreeing to give the talk. The program manager was meant to do it but he had to reschedule due to a change in plans. He’d stepped in, becoming the sacrificial lamb.

  Fortunately his time was up, so he thanked them for coming and bowed out. The woman from the media bounced up from her seat, hustling to get to the far side of the auditorium in an attempt to pin him down for an interview, but he was quick to nip that in the bud. “Doctor. A moment of your time. I was hoping I could get you on the record for…”

  He raised a hand and waved her off. “Geesh I would love to but I’m afraid I have a flight to catch. High school reunion. Can you believe that?”

  “But you said…”

  “Sorry, got to go,” his wife, Jenna, interjected. Jenna had been patiently waiting for him in the wings. She was a doctor at a local hospital. They’d connected through Princeton University as he pursued a career in medicine and entomology. She led him away through a side exit to a waiting SUV. Outside he breathed a sigh of relief before getting in the vehicle.

  “Thank you, darling. You are a life saver.”

  She handed him a coffee.

  “You’re welcome. Now we need to move it if we’re to get there in time.”

  A few more from the media followed them out but Jenna slammed her foot on the accelerator and tore away, leaving them in his side mirror.

  “Remind me again why we’re going?”

  “Hal Clarke.”

  “Right.” He nodded.

  Hal had been his closest friend in high school. He hadn’t seen him in thirty years except through social media photos. He’d been hounding him for years to attend a school reunion in Gerlach, Nevada, his hometown, but life, his career and well, lack of interest in seeing certain individuals was probably what kept him from clicking accept on friend requests from those who he hardly knew, let alone barely recognized now.

  Always one to think outside the box, Hal had managed to wrangle Jenna into persuading him to take the time off, and… persuade she did. His thoughts drifted back to that conversation a month prior as they were getting ready for bed.

  “Don’t you want to find out who’s changed or stayed the same?”

  “Not really,” he’d said, plumping his pillows.

  “C’mon, it’s an excuse to hang out with old friends.”

  There it was, that word — friends. Damn thing was thrown around like a can of Coke. “Acquaintances, you mean? There is a big difference. Besides Hal, I’ve haven’t heard a peep out of the rest of them.”

  “Contact is a two-way deal.”

  “So it’s my fault?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. All I’m saying is this gives you a way to reconnect.”

  He tossed back the blankets and got in, leaning over to grab his iPad and headphones. Without them he found it hard to sleep at night. He would usually bring up some random podcast and the drone of voices would have him asleep within five minutes.

  “Trust me, Jenna, if I or they wanted to reconnect, it would have happened by now.”

  “And what about me? Don’t you want to introduce your significant other?”

  He’d chuckled. “Of course. But that’s what Instagram’s for.”

  “You don’t have Instagram.”

  “Right. Yeah, I guess I should get on that.” She grinned at him and he struggled to hold in his laughter as he swiped through a collection of podcasts. He found one and set it up before stuffing a teeth-grinding guard into his mouth. The bed bounced a little as she got in. Jenna balled her blond hair up into a bun and donned her usual pajamas. Gone were the days of sexy underwear and sex every night. He’d been living with blue balls for the last ten years. Okay, that wasn’t exactly true but he liked to exaggerate.

  “You know it’s a great way to network.” She stuck some anti-snoring device into her nose and looked over at him. He couldn’t help but be amused. What a pair they must have looked. Him with a green night guard stuck in his trap, and her with some snorkel-looking device. She tried a new one every few months, none of them helped. He’d often find himself sleeping on the couch just to avoid the midnight train honking in his ear. At least that’s what it sounded like to him.

  “Come on, how much did Hal pay you?” he asked as he turned and plumped up a wall of pillows between them so they didn’t pass out from bad breath in the night.

  “Look, it’s not as bad as you make it out. We’ll have a few drinks, and we can dance like we’re young again.”

  “I don’t dance.”

  She pulled a face. “I wouldn’t know. You’ve never taken me out dancing.”

  “Our wedding.”

  “Excluding that.”

  He grimaced at the thought of busting a move in some drunken state, as it would take a great deal of alcohol to lower his inhibitions to krunk, or whatever the young kids called it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t danced before, he’d attended a few dances back in the ’80s, if they could be called that. More often than not it looked like cows grinding up against each other as a bunch of girls danced around handbags. He and Hal would stand outside the disco and mock people taking it so seriously.

  She leaned over and patted him on the chest. “You never know, you might be surprised.”

  “You think?”

  Jenna climbed over the wall of pillows and wrapped an arm around him and that was all it took. She had him wrapped around her little finger. One look into those mousy brown eyes, and at that long curly hair, and he was done for. “All right. All right. Tell Hal I’ll be there but this is it. One and done.”

  “Ah, that’s the man I married,” she said with a look of glee.

  “But what about Mikey?”

  Mikey was their only son.

  “Already covered. He has a grandmother that will be over the moon to have him for the week.”

  “The week? I thought it was one night.”

  “Oh stop it. You haven’t had a break in a long while, and besides, I hear Burning Man is going to be amazing… and you know who just bought two tickets?”

  “You’re joking.”

  “What? I’ve always wanted to go. I figured we could scoot over there the following day.”

  “No I mean…” He shut his eyes. “The reunion takes place around the same time as Burning Man?”

  “Yeah, I thought you knew.”

  “Who the hell plans a reunion at the same time as an event in the desert that attracts over eighty thousand people? Previous reunions were always in June.”

  Every year the annual festival saw a temporary city erected in the middle of the Black Rock Desert, running from August 30th through to Labor Day. The reunion was planned for three nights after it had begun.

  Hal had told him that people often showed up throughout the week, clogging up the roads and causing all manner of pandemonium. He’d tried to make arrangements to get there early to avoid the rush but with his talk at the summit on August 31 he couldn’t get away until later that day.

  “Hal said they had to shift things around this year. Something about availability of the gym. They close the school over the Burning Man event so I guess they figured it was a good time. Anyway, I guess we’ll soon find out.” She revealed a set of tickets and waved them in his face before setting them on the nightstand.

  Eighty thousand burners — the name given to those who attended was a far cry from the first bystanders who wandered over to the burning on Baker Beach, San Francisco, in 1986. By the time Miles graduated in ’89, three hundred were in attendance, and the festival was moved to Nevada in 1990. The number attending continued to rise with 2019 seeing the largest turnout.

  The rumor was locals in Gerlach had a love-hate relationship with the event as they tried to adapt to the influx of eighty tho
usand burners into a population of less than two hundred.

  In the four years before Miles left Gerlach for college he’d never even heard of the event. It was only when Hal told him it was being held on the playa in the heat of the Black Rock Desert, eight miles east of Gerlach, that he took any interest. At a glance the images on Hal’s Facebook page over the years reminded him of some kind of hippie convention with half-naked, colorful folks who wanted an excuse to party, get high and have sex. He discovered it was so much more than that.

  According to Hal they’d come a long way in thirty years.

  How far? He was about to find out.

  Two - Gerlach

  Tuesday, September 1, 2020

  Washoe County, Nevada

  “Damn hippies!” Miles said stabbing the horn.

  After catching a flight from Baltimore to Reno, they’d rented a Ford SUV, booked into a motel and waited until late morning before embarking on what was meant to be a two-hour journey north — it took far longer, two additional hours to be exact because of a fatal accident.

  Ahead, a long line of trucks, vans, RVs, art cars, buses and even a golden Ferrari were at a standstill on Highway 447. A group of burners partially clothed in bikinis, shorts, goggles, bandannas and scarves, caked in colorful makeup, hopped out and decided they would dance while drinking kombucha and smoking weed. Miles wouldn’t have minded had they come to a permanent standstill but the line was still crawling forward — all right, only a few inches but that was valuable real estate when it was hot and they were so close to arriving.

  “Relax, Miles. Hal said the traffic would be unpredictable.” Jenna swiped the screen of her phone, checking the Twitter updates on Bmantraffic, the source for everything related to traffic in and out of Burning Man.

  His fingers drummed the steering wheel. “He also said we would miss the bulk of traffic. The gate to Burning Man has been open since Sunday morning. You’d think all these folks would be gone by now.” He sighed.

  “They had eighty thousand people show up last year. And not everyone arrives in the first few days, some show up later.”