Degeneration

by Mark Campbell

  “No, sir, the helicopter was en-route to base at Fort Bragg in Fayetteville, North Carolina. It has veered off-course and is now flying over Raleigh, North Carolina, population of five-hundred and nineteen thousand. It is gradually losing altitude and the pilot is presumed to be infected,” Col. Mathis said. “Given the nature of ‘PT-12’, Raleigh is compromised the minute he crashes.”

  “Are we sure it will come to that?” Gen. Falton asked, sighing.

  “Since he is still capable of flying, he didn’t get bit, that much we know. If it was a bite transmission he would have succumbed by now. But, given the virus’ airborne qualities, yes, he will inevitably turn and crash.”

  “Why in the hell is he flying towards Raleigh?” Lt. Gen. Yates asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “It’s only a slight deviation from the normal flight path,” Col. Mathis said. “He could be looking for a hospital helipad.”

  “Regardless, at this point we have to assume Raleigh will be compromised. Given that scenario, what is the outlook?” Gen. Falton asked, furrowing his brow. He knew how dangerous ‘PT-12’ was.

  “Not good, sir,” Col. Mathis said. He passed Gen. Falton and Lt. Gen. Yates each a sealed red folder. The folders were imprinted with ‘TOP SECRET – PROJECT ‘PT-12’ – HIGHLY SENSITIVE’.

  Gen. Falton and Lt. Gen. Yates broke the seal on their folders and started reading while Col. Mathis spoke.

  “As you can see, ‘PT-12’ is an extremely virulent mutation of four different crossbred neuroinvasive disease agents. It is classified in the program as a social destabilization agent. It attacks the respiratory and neurological systems simultaneously and clinical death occurs five to ten hours after airborne exposure or around forty-five minutes after bodily fluid and bite exposures. As far as we know, the disease is not vector-borne. After initial infection, rather bite-borne or airborne, flu-like symptoms show within the first fifteen minutes as the immune system goes into immediate overdrive. After initial clinical death, things get considerably worse.”

  Col. Mathis pulled out a glossy photograph from his dossier and handed it to Gen. Falton.

  “This is one of the first test subjects,” Col. Mathis explained. “The photograph was taken after the test subject was pronounced clinically dead. Prior to his death, the subject was lethargic, docile, and delusional with fever. He eventually fell into cardiac arrest. We did not resuscitate and allowed the subject to die. Approximately five minutes later, the subject reanimated. That is when the photograph was taken.”

  Gen. Falton stared at the image of a young man wearing an army hospital smock. The words ‘TOP SECRET – TEST SUBJECT ADAM’ were stamped across the top of the photograph.

  “Dear God,” Gen. Falton muttered.

  The man was chained against the wall. Blood ran freely from his ears, dribbled out of his nose, and clouded his eyes. He was facing the cameraman with an expression of feral rage.

  Gen. Falton hurriedly passed the photo over to Lt. Gen. Yates.

  Lt. Gen. Yates stared at the photograph, unwavering in his expression.

  “Prior to reanimation, the infected subject is contagious and unknowingly spreads the virus much like a common cold. Subjects in the beginning stages will experience severe coughing, sneezing, and shortness of breath. Mania and fever-induced delusions have also been reported shortly before the subject dies.

  “The reanimated subject’s behavior,” Col. Mathis continued, “is extremely hostile and focused on creating new hosts. They actively seek out new hosts. The subject will try to spread the infection by biting, vomiting, or most often a combination of both.

  “The reanimated subject will remain active in its search for new hosts for up to five days. After that, the infected host starts to shut down as the ‘PT-12’ virus follows its genetically engineered self-degeneration program.”

  “Thank you, Colonel,” Gen. Falton said, shaking his head. He laid the red folder on the desk and sighed. “It’s one of our germs, right?”

  “Correct,” Col. Mathis said.

  “So we have the antivirus in cold storage?” Gen. Falton asked.

  “Yes, sir, the Atlanta storage facility has active vials of the antivirus,” he paused, thinking. “I recall that they had an issue with it during the annual audit, though, but I can’t recall the exact nature. I glanced at the internal memorandum briefly a few weeks ago.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Gen. Falton said, “As long as we still have the antivirus, we’re okay. I’ll contact the Atlanta facility later to get the details. What about the weapon itself? Do we have any active vials in storage?”

  “No, sir,” Col. Mathis said. “They were all incinerated in the Fort Detrick incident.”

  “Since we have an active antivirus on file, the weapon is still classified as viable,” Gen. Falton said. “I’ll shift production of ‘PT-12’ over to the Utah compound to get it back into our arsenal. Thank you for the report.”

  “Yes, thank you, Colonel,” Lt. Gen. Yates said as he snapped his red folder shut. “Unfortunately, you didn’t offer anything that will help with our current helicopter problem. I suggest that we simply blow it out of the air. A cover story would be simple enough. We could make it look like a pilot error or even play the terrorist angle.”

  Col. Mathis shook his head.

  “Even then, it wouldn’t help us. The corpses would still be infectious and it would spread by means of first responders. We can’t risk it. If this gets out, we could be dealing with a pandemic within a month,” Col. Mathis said. “I think we need to isolate and look at vaccine distribution before things–”

  Gen. Falton raised his hand and abruptly cut him off.

  “Distribute the vaccine? Colonel, need I remind you that ‘PT-12’ is a multibillion dollar bioweapon? We are the only country with ‘PT-12’ in our arsenal. It would not be in the best interest of this government to show that we have a cure and defuse our weapon on the world stage, considering that it could prove invaluable in a future war. I’ve already spoken with the Joint Chiefs about this and they are all in agreement.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, what else can we do? Wait it out?”

  “I think that’s exactly what we should do,” Lt. Gen. Yates said. “Besides, we could never produce enough vaccine to inoculate the whole city before the helicopter crashes, so stop being naive.”

  Gen. Falton and Col. Mathis looked over at him.

  “You said,” Lt. Gen. Yates continued, “that those who become infected and reanimate survive for around five days before the virus starts to shut down, correct?”

  “Yes, and?”

  “You also said that the pilot will crash somewhere within the Raleigh area, correct?”

  “Yes, what’s your point?” Col. Mathis pointedly asked.

  “My point, Colonel, is that it could work to our advantage,” Lt. Gen. Yates replied. He took a step forward, reached up, and ran his fingers through his white push-broom mustache, thinking out loud. “Downtown streets are narrow, access is limited, and there are skyscrapers that can accommodate large numbers of people. If he’s going to inevitably crash in Raleigh, downtown would be the ideal place to round people up and confine them inside buildings.”

  “And how do you plan on making the pilot crash where we want?” Gen. Falton said, doubtful.

  Lt. Gen. Yates cleared his throat, folded his arms across his chest, and continued.

  “Either he lands willingly, or we’ll make him land. I can have men in Raleigh within two hours. If we bite this thing early enough and get proper quarantine established, we’ll have minimal localized causalities. Before the helicopter lands, we can start evacuating downtown. Once he lands, we seal it off. We can force those who got stuck inside the quarantine into buildings before they turn, seal the buildings, let the infection run its course, wait till they die off, and then go in and dispose of the corpses. It can be that simple. All I need is your word,” Lt. Gen. Yates said, posed and ready.

  “I don’t like it,” Gen
. Falton admitted, frowning. “I’d like to take care of this in an area with less population density. What about outside of downtown?”

  “As a failsafe, FEMA could evacuate the rest of the city while we handle things downtown,” Lt. Gen. Yates said. “But the way I see it is simple. Either we control where he lands or we wait to see where he crashes and hope that we get there in time to make a perimeter and control the outbreak. All I am saying is that downtown’s layout would make things considerably easier from a logistics standpoint.”

  “Or,” Col. Mathis added, “We could wait and see if he crashes on the outskirts of the city. Perhaps he’ll crash in a sparsely populated neighborhood.”

  “But, once again, that is a situation we cannot control,” Lt. Gen. Yates said. “We would have to hope that we’d be the first responders in that situation.”

  “Christ, you’re right,” Gen. Falton muttered. “All it would take is for one infected civilian to slip through the cracks…”

  Lt. Gen. Yates knew that in times of national crisis, the powers-that-be looked kindly on those who solved problems the cheapest and fastest way possible. He knew weaklings like Col. Mathis and senile fools like Gen. Falton would never be able to handle the ‘PT-12’ on their own. Fortunately, he knew what had to be done. In the end, solving the problem would give him enough political leverage to move-up and really get things done. He looked down at the slouched Gen. Falton and smiled. Go ahead, you stupid old fool, let me clean up your mess and then have the honor of kicking you off of your pedestal.

  “Can’t we crash him where he is currently?” Gen. Falton reasoned.

  Col. Mathis frowned and shook his head.

  “Unfortunately, the residential area he is currently flying over has a very high population density. We’d never be able to control it.”

  Gen. Falton looked up at Lt. Gen. Yates.

  “Go ahead with your plan. At this point, I guess it is the only viable option. I want a full perimeter established around downtown and a secondary perimeter along the outside of the city just in case things go sideways. Nothing gets in or out Raleigh and every last person caught inside downtown when that helicopter lands must be placed under lock and key, no exceptions,” Gen. Falton said. “We cannot risk this getting out.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lt. Gen. Yates said with a smirk.

  “Colonel Mathis, I want the 161st to manage the downtown quarantine. I want you on the ground in downtown Raleigh immediately. We’ll label it as a biological terrorist attack to sooth the media and cause enough panic to make our actions seem viable. Have the mainstream media spin the story however the national office sees fit. As far as the reanimates go, however, I want a full media blackout,” Gen. Falton said.

  “Yes, sir, but how will we sell any local reports of the… reanimates?” Col. Mathis quietly asked.

  Lt. Gen. Yates frowned and furrowed his brows.

  “Colonel, nobody will see one,” Lt. Gen. Yates shot back. “By the time the infected start to turn, they’ll be locked inside plastic-draped buildings and hidden away from the public eye.”

  “I was addressing General Falton,” Col. Mathis quickly replied, dubious of Yates’ plan. “General, sir, how will we handle the situation should it arise?”

  Lt. Gen. Yates’ face flushed with anger, but before he could respond–

  “It’s downtown! They have ghettos, right?” Gen. Falton snapped, looking sharply at Mathis with his piercing blue eyes. “When all hell breaks loose downtown and you start shoving people into buildings, blame it on the goddamn minorities! Call it rioting or looting! I don’t care what you have to call it when we start rounding up civilians but don’t call it for what it is!”

  Pain rippled across his chest and sent his heart thumping wildly.

  Gen. Falton settled and looked down at his trembling right hand while his other hand massaged his chest. His heart slowed and the sharp pain subsided.

  “Another thing, Colonel Mathis, I don’t want any reporters near where you’ll be herding people and shoving them into buildings. In fact, I don’t want a single cameraman inside downtown. Understand me?”

  Col. Mathis slowly nodded with dread. He understood what the General just ordered him to do.

  Lt. Gen. Yates smirked.

  Gen. Falton frowned as he looked over at Lt. Gen. Yates. There was something in the man’s eyes that he mistrusted.

  “We mustn’t lose control of this situation,” Gen. Falton said.

  “Sir, what about the social media networks and cell phones? It could be a problem, if any footage does somehow leak out,” Col. Mathis interrupted, frowning.

  “Iron Shield protocol will handle that, Colonel,” Gen. Falton simply said. “I want you on the ground managing the downtown operations, Colonel. You’re to leave for Raleigh immediately. You’re dismissed.”

  Col. Mathis snapped a quick salute, turned, and left the office without another word. Guilt ate at the pit of his stomach.

  After a moment, Lt. Gen. Yates spoke up.

  “So you’re activating Iron Shield?”

  Gen. Falton nodded.

  “I really don’t see any other option in this day and age,” Gen. Falton said. “I trust you to handle containment measures if things go south. The Joint Chiefs have already mentioned using thermobarics as a failsafe. I’m putting a lot of trust in you to handle this.”

  “It’s a solid decision, sir, and I won’t let you down,” Lt. Gen. Yates said in his gruff voice, smiling. As if you had any other choice. Who else would be able to make the tough decisions?

  “Another thing,” Gen. Falton added, folding his hands over his belly. “Make sure that the skyscrapers they choose have hurricane-rated impact resistant glass on all floors.”

  “Is there a specific reason, sir?” Lt. Gen. Yates asked.

  “The reason will make itself apparent once people start to panic inside the sealed buildings. You’re dismissed.”

  Lt. Gen. Yates saluted and left the office in a hurry.

  Gen. Falton was left alone with his thoughts.

  Gen. Falton stared vacantly at the medals and pictures that covered his office wall. He stared at one picture in particular, a picture of a younger him standing next to President Regan.

  “Yes, it’s a command decision, a solid, justified response,” Gen. Falton said to himself.

  He nodded, confident in his decision, and picked up the red phone on his desk to call the president, who was eagerly waiting.

  6

  As the wayward black helicopter neared downtown Raleigh, the war machine sprung to life and alphabet agencies descended upon the city. A coordinated attack on Raleigh’s infrastructure had begun.

  At 4:31 A.M., forces at Camp Mackall, Fort Bragg, Pope Air Force Base, Seymour Johnson Air Force Base, and Camp Lejeune began emergency mobilization.

  At 5:21 A.M., the first frantic call came through the dispatch center:

  OPERATOR: “911, what is your emergency?”

  CALLER: “Yeah hi, I'm driving down I-85 North, uh, about five miles out of Butner. And there are some tanks, I think. Yeah, tanks, they uh drove across the freeway and blocked it off.”

  OPERATOR: “You said there are some tanks driving on the freeway?”

  CALLER: “No, No, No. Not driving on it. The tanks are parked on it and are blocking the freeway down both directions. And there are some soldiers. They look like our guys but I don't– I just made it through before they– I don't know, I heard lots of crashes. People– people probably going too fast to stop in time when the tanks blocked the freeway. A few of us just made it past before it was completely blocked off.”

  A few cubes down away from the first operator, another call hit the call center:

  OPERATOR: “911, nature of your emergency?”

  CALLER: “I just had an accident! I need–I–I–Oh God, I–just–”

  OPERATOR: “Miss, please calm down and–”

  CALLER: “I had an accident! I crashed into the back of him and– Oh God! He's hurt. H
e's hurt! He’s not moving and there’s lots of blood! I'm on I-40 East headed out of Raleigh when– My God, they came out nowhere– They drove right in front of traffic and blocked the whole interstate! I couldn't sto–op–Icouldnot– Oh my God! They have– have guns!”

  OPERATOR: “Miss, Miss, please slow down. Who has a gun? The other driver?”

  CALLER: “NO! The soldiers! There are tanks and trucks– Oh God! What's going on? Is there an attack? He looks– [Explosion][Metal Crunching]”

  At the cube adjacent to her, another call came at the same time hers did:

  OPERATOR: “911, what is–”

  CALLER: “I am on the phone with the POLICE, right NOW! [Yelling in background]”

  OPERATOR: “Sir, excuse me?”

  CALLER: “Yes, Miss? I am here with somebody who claims to be from the US Army and he is– [Yelling] Don't you touch me! [Yelling] And! He is illegally blocking a public road and threatening– [Gunshots][Screaming][More Gunfire]”

  [LINE DISCONECT]

  More calls flooded the Raleigh-Durham Emergency Call Center, all describing similar horrors; the lines quickly jammed. The stunned operators took off their headsets and stood up from their consoles to peer over the edge of their cubicles, looking at each other, frightened.

  The atmosphere became deafening as hundreds of console phones rang at once, consistently. The operators couldn’t even hear each other’s frightened prattling.

  Then, silence as all of the phones stopped ringing at the same time.

  “What in the hell is going on?” a man manning one of the cubes in the middle of the center asked aloud.

  The other operators murmured amongst each other and checked their console phones.

  “I’m calling Marcel,” a woman announced as she sat back down at her console. She picked up the phone to call the shift supervisor, Marcel, and then paused as soon as she put her headset on–

  Her console phone had no dial tone.

  Her eyes drifted over to the error message displayed in the corner of her computer screen: ‘Cannot acquire network address’

  She quickly reached down into her purse that was slung over the side of her chair and pulled out her smartphone. Dismayed and frightened she read: ‘NO SERVICE’