The APOCs Virus

by Alex Myers

  There were a few groans and a few snickers from the crowd, but it was a minimum.

  Puck pulled a white handkerchief out of his rear pocket and wiped his dripping brow. He felt like he was in a steam bath.

  "You'll also have a breathable, tear‑proof, virtually puncture proof, rubberized, body suit; as well as gloves made out the same material. You will be using the weapons of your unit, but we have taken the liberty of devising special ammunition for you. Bullets will have explosive incendiary tips. In addition you'll have in your arsenal special incendiary grenades resembling Russian egg-fragmentation grenades, and a notably customized M72 rocket launcher with highly explosive rockets."

  Puck, despite being coerced into his participation in the offensive, was to his disbelief, feeling an emotion close to elation. He was starting to cool off; a breeze was blowing in through the opened aircraft door. He felt the speech was going better than he had hoped.

  "All the weapons will cater to the Apoc's greatest weakness‑‑ fire. Before I turn things back over to Admiral Prescott for the finer details of the attack, there is another area that I want to cover, and that is what to do in case of infection.

  "If you fear that you have been infected, such as coming in contact with the yellow MDR‑V6 virus through an orifice, cut or abrasion, or proximity to the skin, consider yourself infected. There is an easy procedure to follow if you believe contact has been made, and that is to immerse yourself completely in water. Since the offensive will take place at the Naval Operations Base in Norfolk, the saline content of the Harbor of Hampton Roads will work perfectly. If you cannot make it to the harbor, any water will do.

  "I recommend immersion for you, a fallen team member, or even a fallen Apoc. Without getting technical, water negates the effect of the virus if performed in the first forty‑five minutes of exposure in eighty percent of all cases, and even in about forty percent of all cases after one hour after exposure. Sounds simple, doesn't it.

  "Let me just add this in closing‑‑since people display a varied reaction to the MDR‑V6 virus‑‑any act of deviant behavior will have to be considered extremely suspect. What I'm trying to say is this: in certain circumstances a reaction to the virus can be instantaneous."

  A murmur rose among the men. A SEAL Team member stood and asked: "Doc, are you trying to tell us if we can’t do the water number, we might have to take out one of our own guys?"

  Puck's answer was straight forward and lacking emotion, "Neutralize‑‑disable them if you can, you are being provided zip-tie arm, leg restraints‑‑then with caution, immerse them. If this isn't possible then yes, kill them."

  Many men in the troops began talking at once with their hands raised for questions. A large heavily-muscled man of about thirty, dressed in camouflage, stood when Puck pointed at him.

  "So does that mean we take no prisoners," he said in a thick Louisiana accent.

  "Too dangerous to handle," Puck said, "and what would or could we do with them anyway? Gentlemen, you have to understand most of these people are not sick in the conventional sense of the word. They are beyond hope. They have no morals, no conscious, no memories, and are definitely without any emotions. They are like rabid animals. Let me put it another way‑‑they want to eat you."

  Nervous laughter was heard among the men. Another Navy SEAL, long and lean, his bronzed skin contrasting against his white uniform asked, "You said they're like animals, but can they think?"

  "That's almost putting it mildly. They're cunning, vicious, and live to kill‑‑kill or convert." The troops seemed to brush the comment off, so Puck addressed it further. "There's nothing that they'd like better than to have you join their ranks. It's obvious that this is true, because their numbers double every day."

  A very prim and proper, middle‑aged black Marine officer introducing himself as Captain Shears, stood with a question just as Puck was about to excuse himself to bring up the Admiral.

  "Sir, if you are able to answer this, if not I'll understand. Since the problem in the Norfolk area‑‑to the best of my knowledge at least‑‑appears to be confined to the civilian sector, why then are we to base the offensive on the Navel Operations Base? Why don't we concentrate on this section called Oceanview?"

  Puck hesitated, turned toward Admiral Prescott, received a nod of approval, then proceeded. "An Apoc, a former Navy MP, was revived quite by accident two days ago. The injuries he received—without the healing catalyst of the MDR‑V6 ‑‑would have surely died. He was shot, then dragged into the saline water of the Chesapeake Bay. He is now in a Virginia Beach Hospital and experiencing what we consider to be close to a miraculous recovery. Other than the scar tissue and the complete healing of the gunshot wound, he's going to be fine‑‑fact is, better. His body, however, has been through a tremendous strain, and he still slips in and out of consciousness. In his lucid states, he has provided us with grave information. This man was in the Apoc camp for close to three days, and he has had some interesting things to pass along about the inner workings of the Apoc hierarchy. He also holds the record for the longest revive after an infection.

  "The Apocs are being led by two former officers from the Ohio Class Nuclear Submarine the ‘Michigan’. We have reviewed the service records and personality profiles of these former officers, and quite frankly, that's what worries us."

  "Then I take it there are nuclear submarines at port at NOB?" Captain Shears asked.

  "Yes, SSN 712 the Atlanta, a Los Angeles Class attack sub; SSN 704, the Boston, another Los Angeles Class attack sub; and SSBN 727, and the Michigan, an Ohio Class Strategic Missile submarine, known as a Boomer, carrying 24 Trident II missiles on board."

  "Is it your contention, Dr. Puck, that they will try to commandeer the sub?" Captain Shears asked.

  "According to the MP, they plan to attack the naval base before the Roosevelt Battle Group deploys this Saturday. So to answer your question Captain Shears, yes, we have considered that possibility. The Roosevelt itself, and its support ships have no nuclear arsenal on board now‑‑that will be loaded later at the Yorktown Naval Weapons Station, but the Boomers keep the nukes on board at all times.

  "Gentlemen," a more confident Puck said as he leaned to the microphone, "I have already said more than I originally outlined. If I stay here any longer I'll severely step on Admiral Prescott's toes. Before I go I just want to say, good luck and kick some ass!"

  Puck even surprised himself by using the slang. He turned and walked back to his seat. The cheers of the men rang sweetly in his ears. It was good to be on the side of the good guys again he thought as he sat. He wondered if the men would be applauding him if they knew he was the person responsible for the outbreak of the plague in the first place. He wondered which part of his body they would remove first if they knew.

  Puck tried to put the ominous thoughts out of his mind, but they kept returning like a compass to north. He was deep within his own thoughts as Admiral Prescott talked of weapons and strategies. He watched the Admirals eyes and hand gestures as he spoke; the way his closely cropped gray hair seemed totally devoid of color. His stomach was becoming queasy and bile was moving up into his throat.

  He gazed at Prescott with contempt. He was the only one to make the connection between him and Meredith Pharmaceutical; and then connecting Meredith to the outbreak. Prescott putting all the pieces together and pinpointed the outbreak of the plague on the Island of Dr. Wojick in the Middle Atlantic. He remembered when Admiral Prescott, Tex, presented him with the discovery two days earlier over dinner at The Escapade in Washington.

  Of course, Dr. Milan Wojick was now dead, and Puck had made sure that his notes and journals were all destroyed . . . except for the copies he had kept naturally; so how did the Admiral have so much information?

  Prescott, sipping a glass of sherry leaned back in his chair at the restaurant, candlelight giving his eyes a devilish sparkle, had said with a sly smile that he had an offer Puck couldn't refuse. That he must help squash the Apoc uprising
and through his connections at Meredith release the MDR serum to the public on a cost‑only basis.

  Prescott had Dr. Milan Wojick's notes, notes Puck thought only he possessed. When he laid the cards on the table to Puck, he had all but the most minor of details correct.

  Admiral Prescott knew that because of Puck’s connections with Meredith it was he that had introduced the variant six strain into the MDR Serum. Now the old Navy man gave Puck a choice that really was no choice at all: either help and be a hero, or don’t help and be ruined.

  He remembered how the conversation so nondescriptly changed from the proposed defense budget and allocations to the center, to recombinant DNA. He though of how the Admiral innocently asked his opinion on whether he felt the Apoc epidemic, more specifically the MDR‑V6 virus was a result of genetic engineering. His first impulse was to lie, but he remembered dealing with Prescott in the past, and he knew the Admiral didn't ask questions to which he didn’t already know the answer. After answering 'yes', the Admiral asked him if he realized that Milan Wojick’s research had been focused on using the body's own defense system as a means of fighting disease? And that Wojick had achieved his goal by introducing recombinant DNA into the bloodstream. As a reply, Puck had to answer 'no'. Even though Dr. Milan Wojick had worked out of Fort Derrick and the center that he ran, Dr. Wojick was a bit of a maverick, a loner, and didn't file reports through his office. It was Wojick's groundbreaking studies and discoveries into cancer research, and his brilliant work on the legionnaire's outbreak in the late 70's, that gave the aging Soviet dissident a carte blanche run of the center's facilities. Prescott had told Puck himself to give the old Russian whatever he needed; for it was Wojick's work that Prescott gave as the reason for funding the center at appropriation time in front of Congress.

  Admiral Prescott's face showed no reaction, yet still Puck knew he'd been found out. He excused himself from the table and went into the restroom where he became sick.

  On his knees in the lavatory stall, Puck thought about making a run for it; but then thought otherwise because there was simply nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He heard someone enter the restaurant's bathroom, then heard the Admiral's voice asking if he was okay.

  The two men went back to the table, Puck thinking that his career, his life was over. When they were finally seated again, is when Admiral 'Tex' Prescott dropped the bomb on him.

  After dinner the two men went to the Admiral's estate in Alexandria. They were let off at the front door by the Admiral's limousine. As Puck looked at the large imposing house, with its dark foreboding windows, he felt the windows where really eyes, eyes that could see into his soul. He was already a broken man, but there was relief in his failure. They entered the house passing without speaking to the servant that held the door, and proceeded straight to the Admiral's study. He entered the den without any hope, but left the next morning with a new purpose. It was in that sanctum, that night, which they had laid the groundwork for the attack that they were now planning.

  Puck’s mind drifted back to the Hippocratic oath as he sat through the different weapons discussions in the aircraft hangar given by Admiral Prescott. He tried to convince himself that the spread of the MDR‑V6 was an accident, precipitated by just too many coincidences to be totally his fault.

  When he had altered Dr. Wojick's MDR strain, the anomaly was presumed to simply accelerate the body's metabolism enough to malfunction the neurotransmitters, burning out the axon and axon terminals of the neurons within twenty‑four hours. Without the power to disseminate information, or create the small electrical and chemical reaction between the neurons or nerves known as synapses, the body would experience a complete shutdown. No one other than Wojick and the few lab technicians were supposed to die. Wojick's island was the perfect opportunity to rid Puck and his partners at Meredith Pharmaceuticals of a potential bankruptcy and a cantankerous old man. The MDR vaccine that Dr. Wojick developed not only killed the cancer virus but just about every other virus known to man.

  The MDR discovery was to be the aging scientist's gift to the people of the world. Besides assuring Wojick a Nobel Prize, it would have negated the millions that Meredith had invested in cancer research. Wojick was going to release the unbelievably simple and uncomplicated formula for MDR to the public domain. Every company, hell, every chemist with minimal equipment would be distributing the inexpensive compound.

  Wojick, his assistants, and all record of the MDR discovery would have disappeared. Little by little, Meredith Pharmaceutical would have released derivatives of the MDR to the marketplace. It would have spread the earnings and the breakthroughs over the course of many years guaranteeing grants and financial well-being for the rest of his life.

  If the Navy submarine wouldn't have lost control of its SUBIC, or submarine integrated control system, and ran into the freakish storm that put them aground, or the Lieutenant Commander wouldn't have acted on his own volition, and sent a party ashore on Wojick's island, Puck's plan would have worked out perfectly.

  Puck watched the Admiral demonstrate on the video display the modified flame throwers. His eyes were still glazed over and he was deep within himself as he showed the men the small egg‑shaped Russian fragment grenades. He brought his thoughts to the surface and listened to Tex's flawless game plan. Puck smiled. His problems were finally over.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE PROMO

  The 103-inch flat screen Panasonic TV was the center of attraction in the Glorified Church of God’s inner sanctum. The TV was on the only wall that wasn’t floor to ceiling glass in the Reverend Ira’s office. The overhead fluorescents were casting spectral shadows on the faces of the elders. Ira was sitting in Brother Kenneth's chair. The older man stood rubbing his temples and looking out a window at the Church grounds.

  "Brother Kenneth, why don't you find yourself a seat and join the rest of us here at the table," Ira said.

  Brother Kenneth addressed him without turning around. "I prefer to stand. I know what this meeting is about and I whole‑heartedly disagree with it."

  "Now Kenneth," his tone was irascibly patient as his iron fingers tapped on the tabletop. "You don't even know what this is about. Why don't you have a seat. I have something here we all can enjoy."

  Begrudgingly he sat at the end of the table, furthest away from Ira, yet closest to the screen.

  "What I have here," Ira said standing and grandly gesturing to the TV, “is the 'Daniel Plan'. Starting today at noon, this will run on the three major networks once an hour. In addition, I have purchased the network-news avails on the three networks as well as all the major cable outlets." He paused and surveyed the bewildered faces of the men in the room. He smiled.

  "At our last meeting Brother Christopher announced the booking of Norfolk Scope and the Hampton Coliseum for the next thirty days. He mentioned that there was only one night in the next thirty that's not ours. And why not? Because the rock band 'Devil's Reich' was scheduled to play at the Hampton Coliseum tomorrow night."

  The group of elders knew this was not a meeting called to rehash old information. They all speculated what Ira had up his sleeve.

  "Everyone in this room is aware of the difficulties this particular group of heathens has caused to our beloved congregation."

  “More to the point, you in general,” Brother Kenneth said.

  “Yes,” Ira looked at Brother Kenneth with disgust. The old man was the only one who could get away with such a blasphemous statement. He regrouped and continued, “I received a telephone call this morning from a member of the band Devil's Reich, and I think this will clear up the controversy once and for all," his voice was velvet‑edged and strong.

  Ira sat deeply in the high back leather chair and smirked. He would now have his revenge for the humiliation the bands had brought to him. He aimed the remote control at the big screen and it sprung to life.

  The deep-throated rumble of announcer CharlieVan Dyke, for years the voice of Casey Kasem’s American Top 40, now voice
for the Glorified Church of Christ, filled the conference room. "As if the Apoc's weren't bad enough."

  The video image was of a young boy who watched in a trance of horror and fascination as a rotting thing began to winnow out of a basement window. Its shoulders jammed, but its body was all bones and sinew, and in another few seconds, it pushed on through with a surge of frenetic strength. The living corpse stood up in front of the youngster who now cowered in a fetal-like position on a sidewalk. A few tendrils of long black hair hung from the shriveled skull, and hypnotic eyes beamed in a face that resembled a dried scab. The mouth stretched open, exposing sharp jagged-edged teeth that grew larger as it approached the boy and the camera.

  "Now they have joined forces with rock and roll!" the overzealous announcer intoned.

  The video shot went to footage of the latest Devil's Reich concert video. The cacophony of noise crescendoed into a shot of Ira. He was sitting calmly behind his big mahogany desk. The cameras zoomed in.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Reverend Ira Swanson." Picking up the telephone receiver and leaning forward to the camera, in a controlled voice he said: "This morning I received a very disturbing call. But I must warn you the following is quite graphic."