"So we did this!" I felt my voice rise. "We did this to ourselves?"
"I remember seeing something like this last week on TV," Martin said grimly. "Something about the riots in Iran right before all the nuclear saber rattling ceased."
"I remember that, too," James said. He still looked horrified at the implications that were hitting all of us.
"And you knew about it?" Lori looked like she wanted to leap across the room and throttle Wesley.
"It was nothing but rumors!" Wesley stated, his features and tone stern. "Rumors! When you're a career military person you hear a lot of crazy shit. Detention camps being built by Halliburton for the confinement of US citizens critical of whatever administration is in the White House...Black Hawk helicopters doing surveillance on American citizens...the assassination of key political figures throughout the world...rumors of covert biological warfare. Most of it is pure bullshit, but—"
"But obviously some of it's real!" Lori snapped. "Real enough to kill millions of people and turn the rest of them into a mass of slavering wild animals!"
"Even if I knew in my heart what I was hearing had been true, there would have been no way to stop it," Wesley said. He sounded like he was on the verge of throwing himself at our mercy. He sounded like he was at fault. Guilt lined his face, tinged his voice. "The rumor was this was top secret, that a couple of military people had already, quote unquote, disappeared because of it."
"People were taken out?" Martin asked.
"Yes," Wesley answered. "Word gets out about that kind of thing. Again, it all added to what was going around. Those that knew anything and tried to do something to stop it were stopped themselves. Permanently."
"How would this...chemical, or whatever...be spread?" James asked.
"I heard it was airborne," Wesley said. "That a good quantity of it was manufactured in a government lab somewhere on the East Coast and it would have been dropped from a bird flying over Iranian airspace."
"So all they need to do is breathe it in and it changes you," Martin said.
"Why didn't it affect us though?" I asked. I was having a hard time accepting this. My mind was racing. "Are we somehow immune? And if so, why did it affect my son and not the rest of my family? Hell, why didn't it affect me?"
"I don't know," Wesley said. He looked ashamed.
Now I was remembering something from the news. "Wait a minute. Wasn't there something in the news a week ago when this was going on...about a shootout at some lab?"
Wesley looked like he'd suddenly gone pale. "Jesus, you're right. That was Donnelly Labs, in Massachusetts. They were a government lab."
"It was a security guard who was killed," I said, remembering now. "There was a big clampdown...because they thought some chemicals had leaked or something, but that turned out to be false."
Wesley was rubbing his face. He looked sick. "You didn't hear what I heard. The press mentioned the security guard but they didn't mention the missing scientist."
"What missing scientist?" Lori asked.
"I don't know his name," Wesley said. "He wasn't a top guy or anything. Still, he supposedly had All Clearance access. If the chemical was created in that lab and this missing scientist knew about it and...well, if he had political or personal issues of his own—"
"You think this missing scientist was responsible for this wider outbreak?" I asked.
"He wasn't seen again," Wesley said. "And I know that a very large effort was made by the CIA and the military to capture him. He went missing a day after the first of these...these Stone Age bombs were dropped over Iran."
"Was any of that chemical missing?" I asked.
"I don't know, but I suppose it was," Wesley said. "In fact, I'm sure it was, the way they were reacting to this guy's disappearance."
"And that would have given him enough time to travel widely to spread this shit," Martin said.
"Not on any commercial flights," I added. "Not if he was wanted. He could have easily passed the material on to a third party who spread it."
"Or to several people."
We all turned toward the hallway. Tracy was standing there, hands on her hips. How long she'd been listening to our conversation, I had no idea.
"So you're saying our government caused this," Tracy said. She sat down cross-legged next to me and took my hand.
"I'm afraid they did," Wesley said. He shook his head.
"Why didn't it affect us, then?" Heather asked.
"I don't know." Wesley wasn't looking at any of us. He bowed his head, looking ashamed.
"You don't know? Didn't they find this out when they were experimenting on prisoners and shit?"
"You're grilling me as if you blame me for this. I told you, I only heard rumors about it and I didn't believe them myself until just two days ago!"
"Fuck!" Heather turned away. "This is so fucked up."
"I find it hard to believe our government would risk such a thing," James said. "I mean...yes, Iran was a threat. So were North Korea and Syria and a good portion of the Islamic Middle East for that matter. But to utilize biological weapons was a strict violation of—"
"Should've carpet bombed those goddamned towel-head fucks instead of doing this shit," Heather muttered.
"Excuse me?" Lori looked at Heather as if she were about to take the younger girl down a notch.
Heather glowered at Lori. "Excuse you, what?"
"There's no need to get huffy with me, young lady," Lori stated. She rose to her feet, clearly irritated. While I could empathize with Heather's anger, she'd pushed too many buttons in the past day and I was getting tired of her attitude too.
"I'm not getting huffy, I'm just speaking my mind!"
"There's no sense arguing about this," Wesley sighed. He stood up and began pacing. "Heather's right. We had the strongest military in the world and we were too worried about political correctness in dealing with our enemies. Our occupation of Iraq was a joke. Our leadership lacked the sensitivity and the knowledge to effectively deal with our enemies."
"So we should've just carpet bombed Iraq when we went in?" James asked. "Kill millions of innocent people?"
"If you ask me, we shouldn't have gone in, but if we were going to go in at all, we should have done it right."
"And killed millions of innocent people?"
"The Israelis surely never thought of that when they invaded Lebanon in the weeks before all this shit happened," Wesley countered. "They warned the civilian population, then proceeded to strike. That's what we should have done. Israel's response has been correct in my book. Meet force with greater force."
"What bullshit!" Tracy muttered.
I could sense this discussion turning into an all-out political argument and I stood up and raised my hands. "We're not getting anywhere by arguing—"
While I was trying to stop what I perceived to be a full-fledged argument, Heather said something to Wesley. I didn't hear it, but Martin told me about it a few days later.
Heather had gotten to her feet, as did the rest of us, and what she said was directed at Wesley. I was well within earshot but didn't hear it—I was trying to calm Tracy down.
What Heather said to Wesley was this: "So you supported that Zionist occupation?"
Wesley's response was straight to the point. "I supported Israel's right to defend itself."
Lori Smith, who heard the exchange too, was the first among us who got into that fray. "What the hell is your problem, girl?"
Heather turned to her. This part I did see, and if I was trying to convince myself that this kid, this throwback to the 1980's punk look, was really just a misunderstood kid, one who was going through problems before the world as we knew it ended, then I was proven wrong at that point. What I saw in her eyes was pure hatred.
"You're my problem," Heather said. "You and every other traitor to my race for polluting the world with your shit!"
Tracy reacted like she was slapped in the face. "What?" She was looking at Heather as if the girl was some entir
ely new subspecies of human.
"Yeah, that means you too," Heather snapped at Tracy. "And your half-breed mutant kid. Women who fuck animals like your husband are disgusting."
I have to admit I was in shock when she said this. Hard to believe that at a time like this, with civilization pretty much kaput, that issues like race would be a major problem. Before all this happened I still found it hard to believe that somebody could hate me for the color of my skin.
"You little shit!" Tracy muttered. I think she was so surprised at the sudden outburst that it left her unprepared mentally.
Lori Smith fixed Heather with that patented don't fuck with me glare. "So. It looks like I was right about you."
Heather sneered at her. "Like I give a shit what a nigger like you thinks about me."
"Oh, you did not say that!" At the mention of that awful word, the expression on Lori's face was more than obvious. She was boiling mad.
"Oh but I did!" Heather sneered back. "Nigger!"
I've never seen a fist fly so fast before in my life. Lori unleashed a straight right that smacked into Heather's face with such force that it lifted her off her feet. The punch sent her sprawling to the floor. While everything happened so fast, for a few moments it all seemed like it was happening in slow motion.
After Lori slugged Heather she loomed over the younger girl, fists raised, screaming, "I'm gonna fuck you up, bitch!"
Heather looked stunned. Blood gushed from her flattened nose—obviously broken from that single punch. Her face screwed into a rictus of anger and just as she started to get up, Lori dove forward, left hand grappling Heather's throat, and slammed three more punches into Heather's face, accenting each punch with a "Fucking bitch, nobody talks to me that way!"
It took James and Martin to drag Lori off Heather. I've only been in a handful of fights in my life, and four well-placed blows to the face would have been the end of it for me. For Heather, they seemed to wake something up that had lain dormant inside her. Her face was bathed in blood and her left eye was beginning to swell shut. I have no doubt she would have thrown herself at Lori if Wesley hadn't locked his arm around her throat and pulled her back. "Get off me, goddammit!" She yelled. "I'm gonna fuck her up!"
"Shut. The fuck. Up!" Wesley growled at her. He hauled Heather back, and James and Martin held Lori back while something inside of me woke up and insisted on taking charge.
I directed my gaze at Heather, whose attention was wholly centered on Lori. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I knew we should've dumped this bitch off when we got out of LA," Tracy muttered behind me.
Meanwhile, Wesley was trying to calm Heather down. He had a firm grip on her. No way was she going anywhere. "I don't have time for your petty racist attitude, little girl. You understand me?"
"And I don't have time for your shit!" Heather growled. "Get your fucking hands off me!"
"Just get her out of here!" Tracy snapped at Wesley.
Wesley started to haul Heather toward the staircase when James said, "Hold on, hold on, we can't just throw her out of here!"
Wesley stopped. Heather wasn't struggling in his grasp anymore. She was panting from the exertion of her struggle and her eyes gleamed with anger and hatred. Lori had herself under control now but she stood on the other side of the hallway near the conference room, James and Martin standing on either side of her. I have no doubt that if Lori and Heather decided to duke it out who would emerge the winner.
"What do you mean we can't throw her out?" Wesley asked. He was looking at James as if he'd lost his mind.
"Fuck this, I'll fucking go, you don't need to throw me out." Heather struggled in Wesley's grip again. "Let go of me, I'll leave, okay? I don't need you assholes anyway!"
Wesley reluctantly released his grip. Heather tore away from him. She stood by the landing that overlooked the bottom floor of the hotel and glared at us. "Fuckin' nigger loving kikes."
Martin grabbed Lori as she launched herself at Heather again. "You little bitch!"
Heather was growing cockier in her attitude. She took a step forward, shoulders thrust back, pumped up in fight mode. With her mad gaze amid her blood streaked, swollen face, she looked insane. "Yeah, I called you a nigger, and I'm calling you all what you are. You're all nigger-loving and Jew-loving motherfuckers who started all this and you—" Heather glared at Tracy, "should be ashamed of yourself for disgracing your white race by breeding with that redskin asshole boyfriend of yours."
"He's my husband you little shit," Tracy said. There was fury and venom in her tone and posture now. "And my only regret now is that I didn't kill you last night when you made those disgusting comments about my daughter."
Heather hawked up a wad of phlegm from her lungs and spat it at her. Tracy didn't flinch. The loogie didn't even hit her. "That's what I think of your daughter."
I wasn't even aware that I'd taken a step forward, wasn't even aware I was going to smack this kid silly, but James clamped his hand on my arm and held me back. "Dave, don't," he said. "It's not worth it."
"You want to leave, fine," I told Heather through gritted teeth. "Leave. Get the fuck out of here."
Heather was about to say something when Wesley grabbed her around the throat again. Heather began to struggle. Somehow, with one hand locked around her throat, he snaked his other hand down to her waistband and pulled out the handgun she'd stashed there. He handed it to Martin, who quickly took it. "Let me go!" Heather yelled. "Fucking pricks, give that back!"
Wesley released her grip. "You can go, but you aren't going armed."
"The fuck I'm not!"
"Heather." James stepped forward. There was something in his posture that suggested he was trying to be the peacemaker. "Whatever your problem is, we can work it out—"
Heather snarled at him. "Are you deaf? I don't like Jews, niggers, faggots and mutant wetback Indians, okay? And I fucking hate bitches like her," She pointed at Tracy, who looked ready to attack her, "for polluting my race."
"You really believe that shit?" James asked.
Heather didn't answer him directly. She was so angry, was so worked up, that it was hard to tell if the tears and emotion she was displaying were out of frustration or from the pain of her battered face. "You fucking people started this shit and look what happened! My family is dead! My parents, my brother, my friends are all dead."
"Welcome to the club," Lori muttered.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Wesley said, matter-of-factly. He'd released his grip on Heather and stood at sentry duty by the stairs. "We've all lost loved ones. However, we don't have use for whatever wrong-headed views you may have been poisoned with before—"
"You believe that Zionist bullshit, too?" Heather asked him. "And you're white?"
"My ass is as white as they come," Wesley said. "And I don't tolerate that Nazi white racist bullshit and people like you that spout it."
"Well fuck you! My family was better than all of you! We were Aryan Nation and proud of it." She was ranting at all of us now. "All of you can fuck off and die!"
From down the hall, Emily began to cry. "Mommeee!"
"I'm getting out of here." Heather paused, surveyed the room once more with that hateful glare, and then settled her gaze on Tracy. "My only regret is I didn't shut that fucking brat of yours up permanently last night."
"I've had enough of this horseshit," Wesley said, and then he drew his handgun, placed the barrel against Heather's skull and pulled the trigger.
She went down in a spray of blood, bone and exploding brain matter that looked like red mush. I was so surprised by Wesley's move that I yelped. Judging by the other excited sounds around me, Wesley's actions shocked everybody else as well. I thought I heard James shout, "What the hell are you doing?"
As Heather's body fell to the floor and began twitching in its final death throes, Wesley holstered his weapon amid our various shouts of surprise, everything from "what the fuck?" to "are you out of your mind?" to "shit!" I heard Emily down the hall w
ail louder, "Mommeee! Mommeeee!" and Tracy ran toward the room. My mind was still trying to process what was happening when Wesley gestured down the stairs. "We're gonna have company in a minute."
Martin picked up on what he was getting at and darted past him, heading down the stairs, the M4 cradled in his hands. James Goodman was getting angry. He was standing at the center of the landing, fists clenched. "What the hell was that all about? You just killed her!"
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