by Mike Fosen
After a decade and a half of slow, hard and difficult research, experimentation and development, Aleksey’s result was “Variant Z”, and it was the perfect biological weapon. Aleksey secretly hid the results and kept several vials frozen in a tank of liquid nitrogen. He had nearly bankrupted himself paying for his own laboratory equipment, as he wasn’t being paid worth a shit at the Vector Institute. He had to do all the work on his own time, hidden from the Institute which itself was suffering from a severe lack of funding. The continued decline of his country made him even bitterer, and he held out hope that the right buyer for his “product” and a ticket out of Russia would someday present itself. When Aleksey shortly thereafter became unexpectedly ill and was confronted with his own death, he confided in his nephew, Matvei, what he had accomplished.
“I leave it to you,” Aleksey had confided on his deathbed. “Use it as you see fit.”
Matvei went on to explain to the cartel bosses that when “Variant Z” was given to a person via an injection, with a near 100% mortality rate if infected, the human carrier itself became the tool by which to spread the disease. The initially infected person would carry the weakened form of the virus for about one week (a slow burn) before symptoms became evident. As the virus affected their central nervous system, they would become more and more agitated, eventually violent, aggressively biting or injuring future victims, spreading the virus through the transfer of bodily fluids. The longer the virus remained in its human host, the more mutated and lethal it became. It reacted quicker to the new host the longer it remained in the blood stream, with less of a dormant stage. The person eventually “died”, but the body amazingly continued to function at a limited level. This animated body would be able to sustain massive amounts of damage and still function as long as the central nervous system stayed intact, able to further spread the virus to other living hosts.
Following a six to eight week infection period, the host would eventually stop functioning as the 107 degree temperature and lack of nutrition weakened the muscles and brain enough to stop all functions, with the virus consuming all remaining cells in the body. With a terrifyingly fast and effective means of transmission combined with the fact that the virus itself could not survive outside of the human body for more than a few minutes, it was a fearsome biological weapon. Add to that the expected 80% casualty rate to the host population, and in a matter of a few months there would be a decimated population base and a biologically safe, while still fairly intact, infrastructure to move into and conquer. Matvei certainly had their attention at that point in the meeting as low murmurs filled the room. Matvei then laid out the photographic evidence of his testimony, compiled by his uncle, and the room grew quiet.
At first, the cartel remained skeptical that Matvei could deliver on his promise, but the payment of 100 million USD to Matvei secured safe delivery of the vials to the bosses. Matvei carefully hid their exact location before payment in fear of being double crossed and killed. From here a test was set to be conducted on several captured Federal police officers, as well as a few locals who had gotten in the way. The lethal shots were administered, and the cartel waited anxiously for the results to unfold. On the fifth day, all of the test subjects began to run a fever, which accompanied severe diarrhea and vomiting. They became more aggressive with one another, easily agitated over the slightest contact. The test subjects became a mild shade of yellow and started having bloody noses. The first attack happened the next day, and in a matter of a few minutes, it was all over. Most of the victims suffered what should have been mortal wounds but soon revived in a semi-conscious state. Matvei and his men used them for target practice from a safe distance and were amazed at the damage the doomed souls could sustain. A shot to the head destroying the brain was about the only thing that would bring them down. It was decided to kill all but one individual and keep him as a source of more vials of the virus.
Only the cartel bosses and Matvei himself knew of the “Z” virus and the plan that was now taking shape. If word got out it would have spread like wildfire, and Matvei was sure that the United States would stop at nothing to prevent them from deploying it, possibly even using nuclear weapons. Matvei did let his trusted friends from his army days in on it, and the zombie jokes which once were tossed back and forth over beers became less funny as reality began to set in for all of them. Matvei began to first have reservations about following through with the rest of the plan when he found out that the first test patient had not yet died off after nearly three months of being infected.
“The infected need to die off,” he explained to the bosses, “or the entire country will remain a dead zone.”
Matvei explained that this little experiment could quickly get out of hand and maybe there was in fact a better way to slow the American onslaught against the cartel. Added to his angst was the realization that the virus could also mutate again and become even more unpredictable.
“We can’t kill all the customers!” he would halfheartedly joke to the bosses as he suggested perhaps a more limited deployment of the virus.
The cartel bosses, however, were very pleased with the killing power displayed and even treated the carnage during the testing process as a game, similar to the Roman Colosseum. They had tasted blood and wanted more of it.
“We’re losing money by the day!” they reminded him. “We have no time to lose. Put the plan in motion!”
The world economy had gradually deteriorated since all the way back in 2008, and Mexico was certainly catching the worst of it. The unemployment rate was officially 12% but was really around 25%, and the corrupt, inefficient government was powerless to turn it around. The cartel had little problem recruiting several hundred families with the promise of a job, home and prosperity waiting for them in America. Close families with both parents and several children were specifically chosen by the cartel with the knowledge that the families would provide care to one another when they became sick, which would in turn further spread the virus.
Allied Hispanic gangs already involved in the drug and human trafficking network in the United States prepared housing in the target cities and often arranged work in positions that would offer maximum exposure to the public. Children were arranged to be enrolled in schools. Nothing was left to chance. The target cities themselves would be familiar names to many and were spread across the entire continent.
New York, Buffalo, Newark, Camden, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington D.C. Richmond, Norfolk, Raleigh, Greenville, Atlanta, Smyrna, Macon, Augusta, Tampa Bay, Jacksonville, Orlando, Miami, Montgomery, Birmingham, New Orleans, Nashville, Littlerock, Louisville, Knoxville, Memphis, Cincinnati, Columbus, Toledo, Indianapolis, Pittsburg, Cleveland, Minneapolis, Rochester, St. Louis, Des Moines, Postville, Dallas, Houston, Waco, San Antonio, El Paso, Albuquerque, Phoenix, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Oakland, San Diego, San Jose, Las Vegas, Seattle, Portland, Boise, Denver, Oklahoma City, Lincoln, Kansas City, Detroit, Milwaukee, Madison, Lacrosse, Dubuque, Rockford, Springfield, Chicago, Elgin, Aurora, and Joliet.
With a continued sense of foreboding, Matvei stayed mostly clear of the families that were being chosen and instead became immersed in the vast logistical obstacles that needed to be overcome. He used an old Russian military contact and, with the help of some American dollars, secured 5000 AK-74 assault rifles and 15 million rounds of accompanying ammunition, along with several hundred RPG7s and RPK light machine guns. Trucks and supplies were gathered, and the ranks of mercenaries were increased for the push north. Matvei figured food and fuel would be readily available once in country. With the lingering doubt still festering in his mind, Matvei did spend his private newfound fortune quietly and skillfully on a backup plan for himself and a few others in case the whole plan and world, for that matter, went to complete shit. Among these were a newly purchased 1,500 acre ranch in Arizona, and a ship, loaded and fueled up, waiting just off the Gulf Coast. Several months later and with summer beginning to wind down, the groundwork was finally laid.
Now, on the morning of August 18, Matvei watched in silence as several members from each family heading north to their new life in America were given a “flu” shot. The virus was carefully administered by a local doctor accompanied by several large and well-armed guards who stood by watching intently. All were then loaded into trucks along with a few meager belongings and family mementos. Matvei was personally put in charge of this last critical step to insure its successful completion. Matvei, with his reminiscing and cigarette finished, walked over and stood by as the last truck was loaded. Javier Garcia, a husband and father of four, was going to be the last one in, and Matvei just wanted this shit over with.
“This truck is headed for Joliet, Illinois, sir,” a mercenary remarked to Matvei.
Javier turned, walked up and attempted to shake Matvei’s hand.
“Thank you for this opportunity, sir,” Javier stated in broken English.
Matvei felt a slight involuntary recoil in his body as he took a step back, knowing that Javier was already infected and contagious as well.
“Good luck,” was all Matvei could mutter as he turned and walked away.
Matvei’s heavy jump boots echoed through the warehouse as he fished the pack of cigarettes from his right front pocket and pulled out another smoke.
Javier shrugged, turned and hopped aboard the truck, putting his arm around his wife Maria as the big diesel rumbled to life. There were forty-five people aboard just this one truck, and they had a safe and secure crossing arranged by which to enter the United States. The cartel had provided everything. All they asked in return was the use of his former simple residence in Mexico for their operations.
“What a small price to pay,” Javier remarked.
The real price for Javier—and all of mankind—was much, much higher. A mere two hours later, they and the virus, yet unnoticed by the hosts, slipped across the border into America.
That night Matvei lay in bed smoking in a fancy five star hotel at a resort in Cancun. He was quietly gazing at the woman who had been his realtor while he searched for a secluded ranch in Arizona to purchase. Matvei never had a problem finding women; they always seemed drawn to him. His latest conquest was no exception. With long dark hair and beautiful features, she had been successful in finding Matvei the perfect fallback location and had also proved to be very good at other things. She loved the money he threw around, and this was her third trip to Mexico this year. She didn’t really seem to care where the money came from and never once asked. He now watched as she seductively slid out of the silk robe and let it fall to the floor. Without making a sound, she gently slid up next to him letting her warm firm breast touch his chest. Her head came to a rest on his shoulder, and she began biting his ear as her left hand moved down his torso.
Normally he would have forcefully taken her on a night like this, and while the thought was intoxicating, Matvei could only see the haunting faces of Javier’s children as the truck drove by on its way out of the main gate. She moved down his body, kissing his neck and chest, but Matvei just shrugged her off.
“Not tonight, baby,” Matvei sighed as her hand stopped just short of his manhood.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked, sounding a bit frustrated. “You’re acting like the weight of the world is on your shoulders tonight. We had a fabulous dinner, and the champagne was amazing.”
Matvei could tell she was slightly intoxicated and could feel the heat from her inner thigh as she straddled him.
“No, it’s nothing. Just some problems at work that don‘t concern you,” Matvei mumbled. “Now just leave me alone.”
She pulled away from him dejected and covered her chest with the sheet. She then watched with a puzzled look on her face as Matvei just stared at his cigarette as it slowly burnt out in his hand.
* * * * * * * *
As the three day journey to Joliet drew to an end, Javier began to feel ill. Constantly tired and growing more restless, he had a splitting headache and couldn’t keep his food down. The smell of vomit permeated the truck as more than one person became ill. Maria had her hands full taking care of their youngest daughter who had come down with the flu as well. However, the truck was hot and noisy, and the ride was rough, so nobody was overly concerned. Their destination was worth the trip!
“Don’t worry Maria, everything will be fine,” Javier assured her. “I spoke with the driver at our last stop, and we should be there shortly. We can then get out of this truck and into our new home. Who would have thought we would have a chance like this three short months ago, with a chance at a fresh start? We have new jobs for us both, with better schools and medical care. I never could have imagined!”
Maria didn’t seem too sure. The worry was all over her face.
Javier leaned over, kissed Maria on the forehead and tried to smile through his headache. She seemed reassured momentarily, but that soon changed. Others in the truck seemed sick as well, including her oldest son Jose, and her maternal instincts were telling her something was very wrong.
“Why would the cartel want to help us?” she asked her husband before they left. “They’re bad men who never do anything for free. Remember all the innocents they slaughtered back home?”
Javier had dismissed her concerns then, when the opportunity had first been presented, and was doing it again now.
“Just wait and see,” he said with a forced smile as he sat back down and tried to make his daughter comfortable.
This same general theme played out all across the country as the unknowing hosts arrived at their new homes and settled in. Just like Javier and his family, they began their jobs, some feeling better than others. Many of the jobs provided maximum exposure to the public in food service and janitorial work. When Maria first saw their new home, she thought maybe Javier was right about the move. They had their jobs and the kids were enrolled in school. However, everyone was still sick and feeling worse by the hour. A few days later, with madness in his brain, Javier Garcia did something he never imagined he would ever do.
He bit his son.
2
August 26
Day 1
The over packed black Chevy Colorado rocketed down the I-88 toll road towards the Route 47 exit that would lead back home to Joliet, Illinois. My old ass was aching from the long ride. A fifteen year veteran of the city police force, I should have been used to sitting in a vehicle all damn day.
“You’d better slow the fuck down and call ahead to the Watch Commander," I suggested, "and let them know you’re going to be late for work.”
The driver, Stephen, a fellow Joliet officer, was calmly weaving in and out of traffic that appeared to be doing the legal speed limit.
“You know me, Mike,” Stephen responded. "I always cut it close to start time. If it's not one thing making me late, it's another.”
I chuckled and reached for my ever present can of Copenhagen tobacco.
"That’s one thing we can both agree on," I replied. "You always being late. We’ve been working together for years and I’ve never known you to be on time."
After putting in a delicious chaw of dip, I thought about also having to work later tonight on the midnight shift. Stephen worked afternoons at the police department, and I recently had left his shift for midnights which, due to the lack of sleep, I was beginning to regret.
“Well,” I decided, “if we get pulled over for doing 30 mph over the limit, we can flash our badges and maybe he’ll drop your ticket to five over or something.”
“Oh yeah, Mike, well speedin’ shaves a good forty-five minutes off of our trip," Stephen remarked after laughing. "I just hope it isn’t some rookie trooper that drags us out at gunpoint when he sees all the guns stacked up in the back of my truck!”
Agreeing with a nod, I thought back on the last three days we, along with another coworker, Chris, had spent at Stephen’s property in southwest Wisconsin. Stephen grew up in the area and still had family nearby. He recently purcha
sed about a dozen acres of timber for himself and with the help of a buddy’s heavy machinery carved out a fancy private shooting range. It was my first time getting up to see the place, and our time was spent shooting firearms and pounding beer.
“Just not at the same time please,” Stephen had pleaded.
Chris had to take off a day early to work the street as the recession had really cut into our manpower, making it nearly impossible to get an extra day off.
Three days of camping, trigger time, and getting shitfaced really helped relieve a lot of stress that I didn’t know had accumulated. Fewer officers due to layoffs and early retirements added work load and stress to us all. Stephen’s property did not even have electricity, and our cell phones didn’t have a single bar of reception. Not having any electronic distractions allowed us to get in some good firearms training and annoy his nearest neighbor with what probably sounded like a large drug war shootout.
“Hey,” I remarked, “maybe next time we should let the county sheriff’s deputies shoot some too. I’m sure they’ll get dispatched back out to your place after your neighbor complains again.”
“Fuck that tree hugger,” Stephen said, punching the steering wheel. “It’s my property, and I’ll shoot as much as I want to. That's why I bought the place out in the middle of nowhere.”
Besides being a police officer, Stephen was a huge believer in the Second Amendment. He knew exactly what was and wasn’t legal when it came to guns, shooting, and private property rights.
"I only get back there like once a month anyway," he remarked, still frustrated by my snide remark. “That asshole will just have to deal with it.”
As we drove on, Stephen turned up the radio, which was set to WLS AM890 out of Chicago, and we listened to the tail end of a news broadcast. Apparently a new strain of influenza had started to fill the emergency rooms in several cities around the country. The symptoms, the reporter stated, were high fever, headaches, vomiting, and delirium all the way up to a coma-like state. So far, the outbreaks seemed to be contained to a limited number of patients, and the news was quoting some expert who was saying that most of the people in the emergency rooms had the common flu and were merely overreacting. The reporter then went over the common ways to prevent catching the flu, by washing your hands and such, and then commented on what was shaping up to be an early flu season.