by Bobby Akart
From the bunker’s command center in the main chambers of the complex, security video was shown of the areas surrounding the facility. At the guard gate, one and a half miles away from the famous mountain entrance, military police were fending off an angry mob. The road was clogged with parked vehicles and people walking toward the entrance to the Cheyenne Mountain complex.
Periodically, one of the senior airmen from the Air Force who manned the surveillance cameras would zoom in on a citizen bent over on the side of the road, retching out the contents of his stomach. The cameras were capable of zooming in, thus providing a detailed view of the sick, much to the chagrin of President Garcia and Chief of Staff Morse.
“Mr. President, the cabinet is waiting for you in the conference room,” started Morse. “This is really not necessary for you to see.”
The President looked solemn. The crisis had taken its toll on a man who was excited about a summer of campaigning and the prospects of shaping the nation after his re-election, when his hands wouldn’t be tied.
“Andrew, it’s just as I feared,” said President Garcia in response. “The media has labeled me a coward. Americans are angry. They are losing hope already. I mean, look at their faces. Despair. Grief. Desperation. Sickness.”
“Mr. President, there’s nothing diff—” began Morse before being interrupted.
“Andrew, there are dead bodies out there. Lying on the road. Some are being picked up and thrown off the edge down the embankment. Have we lost all respect for human life and dignity?”
Morse didn’t respond. He knew the answer. The respect for our fellow man had begun to disappear long before the plague pandemic.
“Sir, please,” Morse implored. “We have decisions to make and these folks have a job to do.”
President Garcia looked down and shook his head. His shoulders slumped as he buttoned his jacket. With one final glance, he turned and left the command center as the screens showed another push of humanity against the security barriers two thousand feet above the command center where they stood.
Chapter 4
Day Fifty-One
NORAD
Cheyenne Mountain
The President was mostly disengaged as the members of his cabinet gave their reports. His drinking had escalated as a deep depression set in. Morse, as both his longtime friend and chief of staff, attempted to console the President.
He cautioned the President on his drinking, which was becoming an all-day habit. Whispers echoed through the concrete hallways of Cheyenne Mountain that the President was an alcoholic and his judgment was impaired. Morse began to consider the possibility of a worst-case scenario politically—a coup d’etat by his cabinet, forcing him to resign.
The Secretary of Health and Human Services started out the briefing with a report on the effectiveness of the BALO vaccine created by the CDC. Everyone present acknowledged the vaccine was a long shot. Without trials or testing, the vaccine was deemed a hope and a prayer to begin with. After several days of use, it was clear the potential solution failed.
The numbers reported by the WHO and world leaders were astonishing. The population of the planet was just over seven billion people. America’s population was three hundred twenty million people. At the current spread rate of the disease, the CDC’s predictions were dire.
Within two weeks, half the population would be either infected or dead. After four weeks, over ninety percent of Americans would be infected with no hope for a cure. Around the world, similar numbers were predicted for industrialized, populated nations. Third-world, sparsely populated countries would fare better, initially. Lack of communication and education would eventually cause a similar demise in all parts of the world.
“Mr. President,” started Morse, “we are here to lay all the cards on the table as we consider the fate of Americans, and all of humanity, for that matter. I apologize to all who might think my statement is overdramatic, but the facts are the facts. The disease cannot be stopped. If the human race is going to have any hope of survival, we have to alter our approach to battling this pandemic.”
“If I may,” interrupted General Denise Keef, the Secretary of Defense. “My job is to protect this nation, and the President took the important step of sealing our borders. Domestic flights are no longer running and our ports have been closed to oceangoing vessels. Our beefed-up border security has proven to be effective. I consider these initial steps a great success.”
Morse hesitated and looked to the President to address the general’s statements, but he remained quiet, aimlessly doodling on a legal pad in front of him.
“Yes, General. Thank you,” started Morse, who continued to lead the briefing. “Now we have our internal struggle.”
“We do,” interrupted General Keef, drawing a stern look from Morse. “I want to bring up one other matter of security. As crazy as this might sound to all of us, our nation is extremely vulnerable to attack.”
The attendees began to talk among themselves. Some were more animated than others as they discussed the general’s revelation.
“Seriously, General,” Morse said, raising his voice to bring the chatter down, “under these circumstances, who’s capable of attacking us? This is a worldwide phenomenon. The attackers are just as sick as we are.”
Morse looked to the President, who dropped his pen and began to look engaged for the first time. He spoke up. “Please explain, General.”
“Sir, this pandemic was a carefully orchestrated act of bioterrorism by ISIS operatives at the highest level of their caliphate. The Defense Threat Reduction Agency, in cooperation with the Denver FBI, killed who we believe to be the mastermind of the plot—Ali Hassan. However, his father, Abu Ali Hassan, is considered by the CIA to be the next in line to al-Baghdadi.”
“Just because there is a connection doesn’t mean that the ISIS hierarchy is immune from the disease,” said Morse.
“That’s true. In the weeks prior to the global spread of the disease, our intel showed a mass exodus of ISIS fighters and their families out of their traditional strongholds and into the mountains near the borders of Iraq, Iran, and Turkey.”
The President’s demeanor changed considerably. Morse knew his friend well enough that this revelation had sparked an idea in President Garcia. “My last intelligence briefing revealed that al-Baghdadi had abandoned Mosul and was hiding out in the desert, mainly focusing on his own survival.”
“That is true,” said General Keef. “He’s proven to be an elusive target, rarely using communication where he can be monitored. He moves constantly, often multiple times in a twenty-four-hour time period. He hides among sympathetic civilians rather than with the fighters in their barracks.”
“He doesn’t want to get shot at,” quipped one of the other Joint Chiefs.
General Keef continued. “There are mountain hideaways throughout the area northeast of Mosul. The Qandil Mountains are an ideal hiding place along the border with Iran.”
The director of the CIA interjected his thoughts. “General, with all due respect, the Qandils are in the heart of Iraqi Kurdistan. Al-Baghdadi, Hassan, and the rest of their ISIS army would have their hands full walking into the mouth of the Kurdish tiger.”
“I don’t disagree,” said General Keef. “However, as we all know from the past few years in Syria, our hands have been tied in fighting ISIS for fear of harming innocent Syrians and the Kurdish rebels fighting Assad. We’ve identified ISIS barracks and command centers in the past but couldn’t pull the trigger because of collateral damage. They know this. It’s a perfect place for them to hide and ride out the storm created by their plague pandemic, without fear of retaliation due to collateral damage.”
The President cleared his throat, which caused several heads to snap with concerned looks. Even within Cheyenne Mountain, where the entirety of its occupants had been medically cleared, a slight cough due to a tickle in one’s throat could cause a panic.
“Okay, let’s do this,” said President Garcia. “Genera
l Keef, I want you to recall all of our naval forces to protect our Eastern and Western Seaboards. Recall all military personnel to the United States.”
“Sir, if I may interrupt,” started General Keef. “Where do I recall them to?”
“I believe we’ve been going about this all wrong,” replied the President. “We’ve been focused on establishing quarantine centers for the sick. The numbers I’ve heard today reveal this to be the wrong course of action. We should be establishing safe zones for those who are not infected with the disease. Our first priority needs to be the men and women who serve in our military. They protect our nation from attack and now they’ll serve to fight the foreign enemy inside our borders—the plague.”
“Sir, aren’t you condemning large portions of our population to death in order to protect those in the military? I’ve seen the surveillance video and the sparse news reports. The people are angry already,” stated a cabinet member.
“Not at all,” replied the President. “We need to establish order and the best way to do that is with our military. It will show the American people that we are taking steps to protect them.”
“But—” the cabinet member attempted to continue before the President held his hand up, stopping his statement.
“We will also announce that safe zones will be established for Americans that are not ill. Andrew, coordinate with our agencies most involved in domestic affairs to create a plan toward this goal. Quarantines are a waste of time. At this point, we have to focus our efforts on the well, not the ill.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Morse before adding, “What about ISIS?”
“Yes, what about them?” the President asked rhetorically. “General Keef, I want you to coordinate with the CIA and find al-Baghdadi. Locate ISIS in every cave, under every rock, and behind every bush. Right now, the American people are mad at us, or, well, mostly me. Let’s educate them on who’s responsible for this and then we’ll redirect their anger. Once that’s done, we’ll give the Qandil Mountains a fireworks show they’ll never forget.”
Chapter 5
Day Fifty-Two
Quandary Peak
Mac found the carafe of hot, caffeine-rich brew nestled in the Mr. Coffee maker in the kitchen. Her father was an early riser, as was Hunter. She looked for the guys in the expansive living area when she emerged from the bedroom, but they weren’t around. She wandered through the glass patio doors and found her father leaning against the rail of the deck.
“Good morning, Dad. Where’d everybody go?”
Tommy slowly turned and planted a kiss on his daughter’s cheek. “Good morning. Well, they’ve all ditched me. Your mother went to gather pine nuts for a trail mix concoction she has in mind. Janie and your beau are on patrol. They both are having trouble adjusting to the altitude. It’ll take them a few more days.”
“Well, okay. I have you all to myself. Dad, what do you think about Hunter? I mean, in all seriousness.”
Tommy led Mac to the Adirondack chairs and he pulled a stump table between them to rest their coffees on. He finished his and set down his coffee mug, which was imprinted with I periodically need together with the letters representing the elements calcium, CA; fluorine, F; iron, Fe; iodine, I; and neon, Ne.
“Mac, your mother and I were blessed with you at a time we didn’t expect a baby, or need one. You were a pleasant surprise that sealed our love for one another. As my life with your mother grew, the traditional roles of husband and wife got blurred, as you know.”
“I know, Dad. Mom was always busy or traveling. Your teaching job enabled you to take care of me as I was growing up. You did a great job, I might add.”
Tommy smiled and patted his daughter on the hand. “I became the cook and the parent who ferried you back and forth to school or volleyball practice. Your mom carried the burdens of stress and career. In hindsight, it was amazing to us both that you followed in her footsteps as your career opportunities unfolded. Both of us thought you’d be more like me.”
Tommy looked dejected as he made this statement.
“Daddy,” started Mac, a name for her father she rarely used, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, honey, you didn’t. You’ve always been so driven like your mother. It was surprising, that’s all. Over all these years, as our only child, you’ve been the center of our universe, mine especially.”
“Spoken like a true science teacher,” Mac said with a laugh as she wiped away a tear. She wondered if her father felt like he’d missed out on something because of the family dynamics.
“You’ve been the son I never had in many respects,” added Tommy. “Over time, your mom and I discussed whether you’d ever get married. Heck, at one point we wondered if you even dated.”
“Very funny. I’ve had dates. You’d give them the double stink-eye and they’d never ask me out again.”
“That was my way of letting them know your father took a personal interest in his daughter’s well-being.”
Mac finished off her coffee but resisted the urge to get a refill at this moment. Her father obviously had something on his mind and she wanted to let him get it out.
“Daddy, what do you think about Hunter?” She pressed him for an answer.
Tommy leaned back in the chair and laughed. He turned his head toward Mac and said, “I do believe he’s replaced you as the son I never had.”
Mac studied his face and then saw his signature grin when he was kidding someone. “Why? Just because he’s got boy parts and I don’t?” She planned on making the jokester uncomfortable.
“Nah, honey, it’s more than that. There’s a genuineness about him. He doesn’t appear to have any hang-ups or bad habits. Your mom told me about his trust fund. One thing about Hunter, you’d never know he was a gazillionaire.”
Mac laughed and reached for her father’s hand. “Dad, get it right. He’s a billionaire. He’s my billionaire Batman.”
“Here’s what I know,” Tommy continued. “You’d never know it, for one. Second, it might not matter anymore based upon the way the world is spiraling out of control. All that matters is the here and now. I firmly believe Hunter loves you with all his heart and would throw himself in front of a bullet to save your life. For that, he’s number one in my book.”
Mac hopped out of her chair and bent over to hug her father. The teenage girl came out of her as she was pleased to hear of her father’s support for her relationship with Hunter.
“Daddy, I do love him as well. I don’t think I could live without him.”
“Hunter is not only a good man, but he’s very talented as well,” said Tommy. “I’m afraid we’re about to enter a time not that dissimilar from the Wild West days when disputes were handled with a gun and trouble was around every corner. When it comes to protecting our new family, I can’t imagine a better man for the job.”
Mac pulled her father onto his feet from the low-slung chair. She gave him another hug. “You’ve been the guy to take care of me all these years. Hunter can never surpass you as my protector.”
The sound of a dog barking caused Mac to withdraw from their hug. Hunter’s voice echoed through the trees.
“Wait, stop!”
Chapter 6
Day Fifty-Two
Quandary Peak
“What’s going on?” shouted Barb from the forest below the house. She dropped her bag of wild forest edibles and began running to the sounds of shouting and a dog barking. Mac and Tommy were racing across the back deck, and her husband was descending the steep staircase two treads at a time.
Barb charged up the incline and arrived in the backyard about the time Tommy collided with a black Labrador. The dog’s tail was swaying back and forth as he covered Tommy with wet slurps across the face. Mac was about to intervene when her mother shouted, “Stop, Mac! Don’t get any closer. Tommy, get up. You have to distance yourself from this dog. We don’t know—”
Janie and Hunter came rushing around the corner of the house with their weapons drawn.
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“Tommy, can you calm him down so that we can restrain him?” asked Janie.
Tommy began to pet the dog, who was excited, bouncing around the yard with his new playmate.
“He doesn’t have a collar,” replied Tommy. “If I try to hold him, he’ll start with the kisses again. What if he’s infected?”
“So far, you’re the only one who has come in contact with him,” replied Janie. “We need a leash or something.”
“Hang on,” said Hunter as he hurried into the basement. Within seconds, he emerged with a roll of large nylon rope similar to paracord. He crafted a noose out of one end and cut the rope to length with his spring-assisted knife. He tossed the simple leash to Tommy. “Here you go, Tommy. I’ve made a simple slipknot.”
The Labrador sprang into action and leaped through the air, catching the newly made leash. After giving it the what-for by whipping the rope back and forth in his jaws, he calmly trotted to Tommy and presented the leash before dropping it on the ground.
“Good boy,” said Tommy, with a smile and a shrug to the others. He slowly picked up the leash and slipped it over the dog’s smiling face. His tongue was hanging out as he huffed from exhaustion.
Tommy secured the leash around the dog’s neck and patted him on the head. As he did, the beautiful black Lab let out a healthy fart.
“Whoa,” shouted Tommy as he pulled his shirt up over his nose. “That was a good one, my friend. If you don’t mind, you can keep that gas to yourself.”
The Labrador seemed to understand, as he sat down, but remained alert as he watched Tommy’s every move.