The Nightmare Scenario

by Gunnar Duvstig

“Shut up, Hank! You better pull yourself together, because it is happening. While you’ve lived with your monkey-friends in the fantasy that you were invincible, I’ve been preparing for this. I know what to do. You have only three things you need to do right. First, get me in front of the president, without the others. We have to get the president out of that maelstrom of madness that his committee presents. Second, make sure he listens to what I say. Third, make sure you keep the monkeys out of it. I’ve rarely seen such an overwhelming display of inadequacy as from that Michener guy.”

  “I’ll take care of the first part,” said Richard. “Hank, are you ready to go before the president in ten minutes?”

  “I don’t know… A speaker of some obscure language? What are the odds?” Hank was in no shape to go before anyone. That much was clear.

  Richard got the meeting as promised. Keeping the others out, however, had proven impossible and the members of the taskforce drizzled into the Oval Office as the meeting progressed.

  Aeolus wasted no time. “Mr. President, pardon my blunt language, but this is it. The virus is here and it is not contained. I strongly urge you to immediately shut down all air traffic and interstates, and put as wide a quarantine around Philadelphia as possible.”

  “Yes, obviously, we have to shut down the Philadelphia airport immediately. As for shutting down all interstate travel, isn’t that a bit premature, Dr. Hughes?”

  “I think so, Mr. President,” said Michener, who had crept in. “I propose we quarantine the city, but leave it at that. If we get another case, they’re bound to speak English and we can backtrack and take it from there.”

  “Yes, that sounds more reasonable to me. Hank?”

  “I’m not sure Mr. President. I mean… Dr. Hughes has a point, but I also realize the political cost of shutting down all airports.” Hank had not snapped out of it yet.

  “Richard?”

  “I’m with Dr. Hughes on this Mr. President. Fully. He’s been right every time so far, and if we’d listened to him earlier we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  “Hmm… Richard, you know I value your advice highly, but I’m going to go with the USAMRIID on this. It is, after all, what they’re here for.”

  “That said,” continued the president, “I’m not wild about a total quarantine, even of Philadelphia. Essentially, we will be condemning completely healthy people to put their lives at risk through almost certain exposure. I’m not sure what part of the Constitution grants me the right to do that. We should offer them a chance to leave if we can.”

  He turned to Aeolus.

  “We have this test, right? Can’t we use it at roadblocks so there’s a chance for healthy people to get out?”

  “The production has just started, Mr. President,” answered Aeolus. He knew where this was going and he didn’t like it. “As you know, we had a little hiccup with the manufacturers. Anyway, we don’t have the stocks required yet. The only ones who do are the Chinese. And I can assure you they’ll want to use it for Beijing.”

  “Can’t you pull some strings? I mean, you are the UN general of this particular war, are you not?”

  “Excuse me, Mr. President?”

  “Dr. Hughes. Get me the tests we need. If you do, I’ll get you your quarantines.”

  Aeolus swore under his breath, but realized he had no choice. Maybe Loo could work some magic somehow. “Mr. President, I will see what I can do.”

  “Good. So how does this work?” continued the president.

  “We get the local police and FBI to put a block around the inner city and the highways,” said the Secretary of Homeland Security. “Then we call out the Pennsylvania National Guard and have them cut off all the byroads leading out from the city. We work with multiple circles of enclosure. Start from the center and work our way out.”

  “And then we call in the army to solidify things,” said the Secretary of Defense.

  “That requires suspending Posse Comitatus, Mr. President,” responded the Secretary of Homeland Security, “and I would advise against that at this stage. That is a huge decision. The National Guard can handle it.”

  “Obviously Fort Detrick should take point on this,” said Michener.

  “No, not yet,” said the president. “You’ll just scare people with your spacesuits. This generation of parents still remembers E.T., you know. The National Guard it is. And no press for as long as we can keep a lid on this. Anything else?”

  “Yes, Mr. President, there is,” said the Head of the Secret Service. “We have a biological warfare agent on the loose in the country and it is not contained. Our protocols require us to move you an isolated bunker.”

  “Isn’t that a bit extreme?” asked the president.

  “Our protocols are there to protect the republic and chain of command in the face of threat. In my opinion, it’s time to go to Bunker Two. In theory, you can countermand my recommendation, but traditionally presidents don’t, and those who have, have later regretted it.”

  “Excuse me,” said Aeolus. “Hank often mentions the perils of panic, and I have so far disagreed with him, because the benefits have outweighed the costs. In this situation, however, I think there is a point to Hank’s fear of panic. The signal it would send to the people is that not even the president is safe in his own house; which they will surely realize when you are making national addresses not from the lawn or your office, but a bunker. People will start running. Everywhere. And you gain nothing. Given the anti-bio-warfare systems of this building, you’ll be just as safe here, or at worst in Bunker One downstairs. I urge you to stay.”

  “You have a point, Dr. Hughes. But, I’ve made it a principle not to argue with the Secret Service,” said the president.

  The president frowned, considering his options.

  Aeolus couldn’t take it. He had lost too many arguments. For too long he’d been surrounded by this impenetrable gray cloud of ineptitude. He’d had too little sleep, for far too long. Aeolus slammed his cane into the hardwood floor and yelled, “For the love of God, can we for once let sanity prevail within these walls!?”

  The air seemed to freeze. The Chief of Staff knocked over his coffee in surprise. It spilled onto the blue circular rug, making a brown blot on the eagle’s head. No one moved. For a minute everything was still.

  Then the president laughed heartily. “Wow, Dr. Hughes, you’ve held that in for far too long.”

  “Obviously, Mr. President, I did not mean to imply…”

  “You don’t have to apologize. The same thought has crossed my mind many times.” He was still smiling. “And I happen to agree with you. We’re staying in the White House.” He winked at Aeolus. “Provided you get me those tests, that is. Deal?”

  “I will make it happen, Mr. President. One way or another.”

  “And as for the Secret Service’s request, my decision is this. I stay, but one more case outside of Pennsylvania and we go. You can also put the vice president in his bunker. He won’t be making any addresses to the nation for a while anyway. Can you live with that?”

  The ever laconic Head of the Secret Service nodded.

  AUGUST 21ST, 3 P.M., CORNER OF PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE AND 17TH STREET, WASHINGTON D.C.

  Immediately after the meeting, Richard snuck out to make a phone call. It was the only way to get privacy he needed.

  “Hello?” said his brother when he picked up.

  “Bill, it’s me. Richard.”

  “Oh! The lost son calls. Long time no hear, yeah? What’s up now? You’re not calling to see how I am, I know that much.”

  “No, you’re right. It’s about something else. Are you guys at the cabins now?”

  “Yes we’re here; about forty of us. We figured this thing would hit America sooner or later and the only way to be safe would be to get out of the cities before it arrived.”

  “That was pretty smart.”

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing, a compliment from my younger brother? I’d figured after all those years of moc
king me and my friends, you’d laugh us out of town when we finally took to the camp. Well, who’s laughing now, huh?”

  “Bill, I haven’t been critical because you’ve built an isolated compound. What scares me are your maniac friends who think that the government is involved in a conspiracy to enslave them.”

  “That, and that you don’t think a janitor is worthy to be your blood. Right?”

  “Bill… Look… I didn’t call you to fight. I wanted to see how you guys were set up over there.”

  “We’re good. We got food for six months, and that’s not counting the game we can hunt or the fish we can catch. We’ve got water and generators and a year’s supply of fuel. We have enough arms to fight a small war and we have trip mines around the perimeter. Anyone we don’t want here won’t be able to even come close. We have shortwave radio and contact with our friends across the country for when the cell network goes down. But why am I telling you? You’ve never approved of anything I have done. And why are you asking, really? You think I’m such a fuck-up I can’t even do this thing, right? The one thing I care about?”

  “No Bill, I’m calling because you’re right to get to your bunkers. It’s not on the news yet, but it’s here. And I’m not sure we can keep it contained. Obviously what I’m telling you is top secret, so you better keep your mouth shut.”

  “Is there anything worth knowing that isn’t top secret?”

  Richard didn’t want to get into it, and he didn’t have much time before they’d miss him inside.

  “Honestly, your compound is the safest place I can think of right now, and I was wondering whether you’d consider taking in Susanne and the kids?”

  “What about that government you love and trust so much? They can’t even keep your family safe?”

  “It’s not like there’s a space reserved on Marine One for my family, no.”

  Bill chuckled. “So after all these years you come running to your older brother for help, just like you did in school when other kids used to beat you up?”

  “Fine,” Richard thought, “if he wants to rub it in, so be it.

  “Yes, Bill, I’m turning to you for help. It’s my family, Bill. I want to send them to you because when it comes to this, you’re no fuck-up. In fact you are really good at it. I will admit as much. And you’re the only one I can trust on this. Will you take them?”

  “Of course I will! They’ll have to get their asses here on the double, though. We’ll be shutting down soon. I would say a couple of days at the most.”

  Richard sighed in relief.

  “I’ll have them there by tomorrow.”

  “That should be fine. Oh, one more thing, is there anything else we need? Gear I mean, beyond the usual stuff?”

  “You need HEPA-respirators, airtight goggles and plastic gloves to deal with people who try to enter the property. I’ll send them with Susanne. We also have a test you can use to determine whether someone’s infected. It’ll take a while to get hold of, but when I do, I’ll send that through, too.”

  “Go on and send over the family, brother. They’ll be safe here. And I’m looking forward to seeing your face the day you realize that your drop-out brother and his ‘lunatic friends’ saved the lives of your family.”

  As Richard dialed his wife’s number to tell her to get the hell out of Baltimore, the screen flashed with a message: “ALERT - INDEX PATIENT IN PHILADELPHIA DECEASED.” “Well, at least we can stop looking for that interpreter,” Richard thought to himself.

  AUGUST 21ST, 4 P.M., 1869 BRENTWOOD ROAD, ABINGTON, PHILADELPHIA SUBURB, PENNSYLVANIA

  Mike Hagedorn had almost forgotten what stress felt like. Two years ago, when he was fired from his job as an accountant, he’d still been filled with energy. He maintained a schedule of activities, working out and applying for jobs in a systematic fashion. As time passed, and with the job market as it was, he gradually lost hope of finding a new job. Demotivation took over and drove him into a state of constant inactivity.

  Their family squeaked by on his wife’s schoolteacher salary, although they could no longer afford the luxuries they had once considered essentials. He spent his days on the sofa in front of the TV, more often than not downing one beer after another, and he had the belly to show for it.

  This day was different. Oddly enough the last month of nonstop TV viewing had paid off. WPVI, the local news station, had reported that police were surrounding Pennsylvania Hospital and no one was allowed to come or go. Already at that point Mike knew it had to be the bug. He’d followed the global developments closely the last few weeks. It was great TV.

  Twenty minutes later, when the station reported rumors that the National Guard had been called into service, Mike knew it was for real. The Black Flu was here, in Philly. And they were going to quarantine the city.

  He knew all too well what would follow if they couldn’t get out before the roads were closed. The news had shown how quickly things fell apart in Jakarta. Fortunately for them, there were many ways to get out of Philadelphia. Hundreds of small roads. It was going to take time and coordination before they were all covered.

  He had called his wife fifteen minutes earlier and demanded she leave work, pick up the kids and come home. His wife was reluctant at first, accusing him of being paranoid after watching too much TV, but she eventually came around. He didn’t know whether it was because she believed him, or it was because he had a determination in his voice that he hadn’t had for years and she wanted to support him in anything that got him off the couch. Frankly, he didn’t care.

  Mike bent over a city map trying to piece together an escape route. He’d spoken to a friend of his in the police force who said that the city’s center was already isolated. All bridges were shut down and there were choppers in the air. He’d also learnt that the interstates were all being shut down: I-295 at Willingboro, I-95 at Trenton, the Blue Route at Norristown and I-95 at Newark. Mike figured a good bet would be to take Susquehanna Road crossing under I-276 at Dresher and then continue northwest on byroads.

  When his wife came home he hurriedly explained what was going on and why they had to run. While he packed the SUV with blankets, bottled water, outdoor gear and other items that seemed important for the various escape scenarios in his head, his wife tried to reassure their kids. Joanna and Claire were obviously scared. They were completely silent – a rare thing in the case of the two sisters.

  They took off in their Ford Explorer, following Dave’s planned route, but a couple of blocks from the underpass they saw the flashing blue lights of police cars. The road was blocked. Mike made a U-turn and went for his fallback plan. He headed east on Easton Road, ran a red light at Davisville Road and continued to cross under the Pennsylvania turnpike. There was no blockade yet and they got through.

  After that he continued north, avoiding all major roads, driving through alleys while his wife in semi-panic scanned the map in her lap, desperately searching for a route out. They hit a couple of dead ends, which prompted yelling about the incompetence of women when it came to navigation. But eventually they put a fair distance between themselves and the city. At Klinesville, they figured they were in the clear and merged onto I-78 heading west. They had no idea where they were going. They only knew that they had to get as far away from Philadelphia as they possibly could before nightfall.

  The Hagedorns were not the only family in Philadelphia with this idea.

  AUGUST 22ND, 5 A.M., PRESIDENTIAL SUITE, FOUR SEASONS, 2800 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE, WASHINGTON D.C.

  Aeolus felt it in his hand before he felt it in his face; the slight horizontal jerk of the blade when it should have moved in a smooth vertical line. A fraction of a second later, he felt the pinch of pain in his right cheek an inch below the eye.

  He slowly removed the blade and watched, almost in disbelief, as a small trickle of red pierced the cover of foamy white shaving soap.

  He could hardly remember the last time he cut himself shaving. In the beginning, learning to shave with a st
raight razor took considerable practice, and he cut himself almost every day. But that was more than twenty-five years ago.

  He leaned toward the mirror, dabbing the wound with a moist towel, curiously exploring his skin to see if he could find a reason; a small abscess, or an ingrown hair. But he could find nothing.

  He went into the bedroom and rummaged through his bag in search for the alum stone. Surely he had one packed somewhere, although he didn’t know where. It had been such a long time since he used it.

  His search was interrupted by a cacophony of noise. First there was a beep from his cell phone, indicating a new message. Then the phone started ringing and was joined by the hotel room phone. He picked up the hotel phone first, reading the message on his cell: “ALERT – NEW CASE IN BALTIMORE – CONTAINMENT STATUS UNKNOWN.” Simultaneously, Richard was on the phone saying, “Dr. Hughes, we have another case in Baltimore. We’re going to Bunker Two. The president has already left with Marine One. He’s authorized you to join us. There’s a second chopper leaving in fifteen minutes. I’ll be at your hotel with the Secret Service in five. If you’re not down in ten, we’re leaving without you.

  Aeolus didn’t bother to check his message. It was undoubtedly Walt, telling him the same thing. He marched into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, rinsing away the shaving soap. He threw on a white double-cuff spread-collar shirt, not bothering to insert the cufflinks, and grabbed the closest suit in the wardrobe, a navy-blue single-button bespoke Huntsman.

  He threw five shirts into his bag and closed it, hoping with apprehension that the bunker had a decent dry cleaner. He then calmed down by reminding himself that they were probably going to be wearing orange jumpsuits there anyway.

  He caught a glance of himself in the mirror, but looked away, pretending as if he hadn’t seen it, as if that man, with only half his face shaved and a suit bunching up around the neck was someone else altogether.

  He walked down to the waiting car, choosing even now not to run. This might be the mother of all crises, but he was not running. His father would have cursed in his grave.