The Scourge

by R. Tilden Smith

  “Mark is well within his rights to worry. You shouldn't be here, not yet. It's not safe.”

  “These people need to see their president, in person. They need to know that the United States government is doing all it can to alleviate their suffering.”

  “What happens to their morale if their president gets infected and dies?”

  “That's not going to happen Oscar and you know it. Kurt said that General Adams assured him that the evacuation site was safe.”

  “What I know is that Vice President Kurt Dowling wants your job and Saul would love to see you lying in a pool of your own blood. I don't trust either one of those douchebags.”

  There was a sharp knock on the helicopter door. “Well, they're ready for us,” Marcia said.

  “Yes, Madam President, they are,” Oscar said, smoothly transitioning to the way he must formally address his longtime friend when in public, “let's pray that the reverse is true.”

  The door popped open and they disembarked and were quickly escorted down a short path and into a service entrance at the base of the stadium. Marcia briefly wondered why General Adams didn't meet them at the chopper, as was protocol. Don't jump to conclusions Marcia, she thought, there's nothing normal about this whole situation. General Adams probably has good reasons for not being here.

  The president and her entourage were led up several flights of stairs, down a long carpeted hallway, and into a well-appointed conference room. The room was windowless but was equipped with a rectangular array of television monitors—a videowall, if Marcia recalled the name correctly—mounted on the wall at the far end of the room. She was offered a seat at the end of table opposite the videowall. As she and her team took their seats she was struck by the video being displayed on the monitors. The displays were arranged in a rectangle four screens high by eight screen wide. The four by six array of displays in the center had been configured as one large virtual monitor. It showed a wide angle view of the stadium interior from above. The other eight screens, four on either side of the larger view, showed what looked to be individual camera feeds from various places throughout the stadium complex. She saw medical personnel and soldiers rushing in and out of the video frames. They reminded her of worker ants, bumping and climbing on top of one another while busily maintaining the colony. Except those ants don't work for a queen, she thought, they work for douchebag Adams. Saying the new nickname she made up for Saul, if only to herself, gave her so much pleasure that she had to fight to suppress a smile.

  Most of the on-site team had arrived and were milling about in the conference room, not sure where to sit.

  ”Please,” Oscar said to the room, “take any seat so we can begin the briefing. The president is on a very tight schedule.”

  Oscar sat down to Marcia's right and Harold, who looked even more haggard than he did in the meeting they had just thirty hours prior, sat to her left. She leaned toward Oscar so her words wouldn't be overheard by others in the room. “Where is Saul?” she asked.

  “No one seems to know. I've asked one of his officers to put out an APB for him. I know it's not standard procedure, but I recommend we start the briefing without him. All the important people are in the room. I can fill Saul in later.”

  “He's not going to like that.”

  “Yes, I know,” Oscar said with a satisfied smirk.

  Marcia raised her hand in the air to get everyone's attention. “I want to thank everyone for being here. Since General Adams is indisposed at the moment, General Hernandez will serve as his proxy. As in our prior meeting, Dr. Donaldson will brief the team on our current situation. Dr. Donaldson, please go ahead.”

  “Madam President,” Harold said, “if you don't mind, I would like Mr. White from FEMA to speak first. He has some new information that has just come to light in the last six hours.”

  “Of course,” Marcia said. “Charles?”

  “Thank you Madam President,” Charles said. “As you know,FEMA, in coordination with CBRN and the CDC, is engaged in the evacuation and recovery of those impacted by the explosion. As part of that effort, we are responsible for determining an exact count of all casualties, including uninjured survivors and fatalities.”

  “Given the circumstances,” Oscar said, “I hope you have relatively good news for us.”

  “I’m afraid not General Hernandez. Unfortunately, we have discovered an anomaly.”

  Marcia sighed in frustration. “God, another anomaly. I'm really starting to hate that word. What is it Charles?”

  “Yes ma’am. To get right to the point, when we sum the number of survivors that have made it to the evacuation zone, the number of people we estimate to be sheltering in place based on the reconnaissance sweeps that have completed, and the of number of fatalities, and compare it to the number of people that we should see based on population density, we're coming up short. In other words, we are missing people. A lot of them.”

  “Let me see if I understand what you're saying,” Marcia said. “You're saying that based on your estimate of the number of people that lived in the impacted area, you expected the number of known survivors and fatalities to be higher?”

  “Yes ma'am.”

  “How much were your estimates off by?”

  Charles flipped through the stapled report on the table in front of him. “Um, it looks like our estimates differ from projections by approximately twenty to thirty thousand.”

  “Jesus,” Oscar said, “we can't account for over thirty thousand people?”

  “That's what the numbers say,” Charles said, dejected.

  “Couldn't your numbers be wrong?” Marcia said, ”I’m obviously not an expert, but it seems much more likely that your missing people walked or drove out of the impact zone during the initial chaos right after the explosion.”

  “Yes ma'am, it's certainly possible, but we've taken those factors and many others into account when we came up with the estimates. Combined with the hard data collected in the field, we can state with a high level of confidence that our model is accurate.”

  “Well then,” Marcia said, drumming her fingertips lightly on the table top, “do we have any idea what this anomaly means or where these people might be?”

  “We have a theory,” Harold said. “Yesterday, one of our recon teams observed several hundred people infected with the alien virus being attacked by a pack of dogs. They reported that the attack seemed coordinated, like the dogs and the infected were intentionally fighting each other and not a random melee. Unfortunately, they couldn't investigate further because they had to escort a survivor they found in one of the abandoned hospital facilities and an injured team member back to base. By the time another team was dispatched to the location, most of the infected were dead. Those that weren't had to be terminated. What was interesting about this group was that all the victims had experienced significant disfigurement, all in the same way. We weren't surprised by the changes we saw on the outside of the bodies, the elongated extremities, blackened skin, transformed teeth and nails, that kind of thing. We had already seen that in a few isolated cases. But when the bodies were brought back to base for autopsy, we discovered something new. All the bodies had undergone almost a complete reconfiguration of their internal organs, to the point where nothing in their bodies was recognizable as being human. Based on these findings, we think the virus is designed to recode DNA and transform an incumbent species into an entirely different one.”

  “My god, how is that even possible?” Oscar asked.

  “Frankly General, it shouldn't be possible. Humans can't just be shut down like a robot and parts replaced at will. Medical technology has progressed to where certain organs can be transplanted, but that only can be accomplished with great care and difficulty. This virus seems to be able to make wholesale changes to the human body plan using the same genetic material already present in the host.”

  “Repairing the airplane while it's flying, so to speak,” Oscar said.

  “More like transforming it
from a Cessna to a fighter jet,” Harold replied.

  “I’m not making the connection,” Marcia said. “What do missing people have to do with the horrible things the virus is doing to those infected?”

  “Well, Madam President,” Harold said, “we think that in order for the virus to make such significant changes to its host without killing them, it has to put them in some sort of sleep state or stasis. One theory is that the virus compels the host to find a hiding place where the body can be put it sleep until critical changes to the body plan are complete.”

  “So the consensus of the medical team is that there are tens of thousands of infected people tucked in random nooks and crannies around the city, while the virus eats away their insides?”

  “That’s the theory, Madam President.”

  “I have two questions,” Oscar said. “One, where are these infected people hiding and two, you mentioned a recon team encountered hundreds of them being attacked by dogs. What made them come together like that?”

  “We don't know where they're hiding. We suspect they look for a place where they can't be easily found so as to have ample time for the transformation to take place. There is some evidence that they may be hiding in the larger culverts in the wastewater system. As to your second question, we don't have any idea why they would gather in one spot like that, nor do we understand why the dogs were there and why they attacked.”

  Jim Smith sat near the end of the table, five chairs away from the president, quietly examining his badly chewed fingernails. He had a bad habit of biting his nails when he was worried or nervous. “Dr. Donaldson,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, “tell them about the telepathic communication.”

  Harold's head quickly pivoted from the Director of National Intelligence, to the president, and back again. “Mr. Smith, I don't know if that discussion is relevant at this time. Those findings are currently just speculation.”

  “What findings?” Oscar quizzed. “How come I'm just hearing about this?”

  “We were told not to report any information that was inconsistent with a bioweapon hypothesis unless it could be absolutely verified,” Harold blurted.

  “Let me guess,” Marcia said, “General Adams?”

  Harold nodded.

  “Well,” Oscar barked, “I'm overriding that order. Doc, let's hear what you have to say. I'll deal with the general as soon as he arrives.” Oscar pointed at one of the soldiers in the room. “Get on the radio and let General Adams know that his commander in chief requests his presence at his own damn briefing.”

  “Yes sir!” the soldier said, accompanied by a crisp salute. He sprinted out the door.

  Marcia watched the soldier leave then turned her attention back to Harold. “Ok, Dr. Donaldson, what is this about telepathic communication?”

  Harold sat up straighter in his chair and shuffled the papers in front of him for several seconds before beginning to speak. “Um, we have circumstantial evidence that those that become infected can somehow communicate over great distances or have a shared experience without having ever communicated before in any other way.”

  “What kind of evidence?” Oscar asked.

  “Some of those who were infected but subsequently recovered, reported having very vivid dreams where other survivors were present. When we tracked down those other survivors, they reported having the exact same dream. It was if they were all experiencing the same dream at the same time.”

  “I feel kind of silly even asking this,” Marcia said, “but did they say what they saw or talked about while they were in this dream?”

  “Yes,” Harold said, “actually, they were all very specific about what they experienced.” Harold paused to adjust his glasses. “All of them reported being immersed in an environment that I can only describe as the biblical lake of fire, complete with burning brimstone, demons, and the eternal screams of the damned.”

  “And you believe the virus is, what, somehow linking their minds?” Oscar said. “Wouldn’t a more reasonable explanation be that these folks are experiencing some sort of shared delusion similar to what folks who have a near death experience go through?”

  “We thought that as well,” Harold said, “until we examined the helmet and drone video of those whose infections have progressed past the initial stage. In video where there are two or more infected individuals, their movements seemed to be coordinated, even when the individuals were not in line of sight of each other or engaging in any sort of audible communication.”

  “That evidence seems rather thin to be jumping to the conclusion that the virus enables telepathic abilities. I'm sure there are plausible explanations for what you observed.”

  “Doc, if you don't mind me interjecting,” Jim said, “I would like to throw in my two cents.”

  “Please, go ahead,” Harold said.

  “General, what the good doctor is not explaining is the scope of the communication. What I saw when I watched the helmet-cam videos were mutants—”

  “Can we not call them that,” Marcia said, “I want to avoid dehumanizing these poor people. They are victims of a terrible virus but they are still human beings, not mutants. Let's try to remember that.”

  “Of course Madam President,“ Jim said. “What I saw when I watched the videos were infected people who were able to change their behavior based on something that happened to another infected person miles away or hours before. They're not behaving like mindless zombies, there is an intelligence there and somehow that intelligence is being shared and acted upon. In my opinion, this development, however speculative the hypothesis as to how it's happening, has dangerous implications and must be taken seriously. I know General Adams rejected this line of thought, but if we look at all that has transpired in the context of an alien invasion, then a lot of what is happening begins to make sense. Here’s what I think. An alien spacecraft carrying the seeds of another lifeform finds a suitable planet and then disperses those seeds over a wide, populated area, initiating a transformation or species terraforming process that supplants the original sentient lifeform with its own. If you think about it, if your intent is to fill the galaxy with your own kind, then hurling millions, maybe tens of millions, of spacecraft embedded with self-replicating nanobots capable of reconstructing your species on a distant planet is the most efficient way to do it. Especially if you have figured out how to encode and then reconstruct your intelligence or consciousness.”

  Oscar frowned. “Jim, I know you intelligence guys like to connect dots but I think you’re overdoing it. You need to dial back the dot-connecting just a little and let the science team properly interpret the data.”

  The door burst open. It was the soldier Oscar sent to fetch General Adams. “Sir! I'm sorry to interrupt.”

  “What is it son?” Oscar asked, “Were you able to locate General Adams?”

  “They found him sir but you need to see this. I told them to put it up on the screen.”

  As he said this, the video feed on the large center display changed. The overhead view of the inside of the stadium disappeared and was replaced by a view of a parking lot choked with military vehicles and equipment. Suddenly, the view jerked and the camera panned to the right, then zoomed in on a large building on the other side of the lot.

  “What is that building?” Marcia asked.

  “That's the Astrodome,” Oscar said. “In its day, the Astrodome was one of the largest enclosed stadiums in the world. As a matter of fact, when it was built it was deemed the eighth wonder of the world. After the stadium we’re in was built, the old dome was stripped of everything of value, boarded up, and left to rot. Nothing inside it now but trash, rats, and old memories.”

  The camera focused on a large loading dock door at the base of the structure. There were two figures standing in front of the door. Marcia could tell the figures were human by their general shape and posture and that one was much taller than the other, but she couldn't make out much more than that. “The picture is so grainy,” she said, sq
uinting. “I can't tell who they are. Is the taller one General Adams?”

  “Ma’am, we believe it is,“ the soldier said.

  “Who is that with him?” Oscar said. “It looks like a child. Lieutenant, ask them if they can zoom in some more so we can get a closer look.”

  The soldier spoke into his radio and a couple of seconds later the view jerked again and the camera began to zoom in on the two figures.

  “That’s definitely General Adams,” Oscar said as the image of the two figures filled the screen. “What the hell is he doing taking a child into an abandoned building?”

  “My guess would be nothing good,” Jim said.

  “Get some MP’s over there!” Oscar said. “Now!”

  “Yes sir!” the soldier said. He relayed the order into the radio.

  I have described that man with a lot of unfortunate adjectives, Marcia thought, but I never imagined I would add disgusting pedophile to the list. She watched General Adams press himself against the overhead door, knees out, arms between his legs. He looked like he was trying to deadlift the building. “He’s trying to open the door!” she said, clenching her fists to try and stay calm. “Where are the MP’s?”

  As she spoke, several bobbing helmets appeared at the bottom of the screen, quickly transforming into full soldier silhouettes as they ran away from the camera. The child turned to face the approaching troops and looked straight into the camera. Her features weren't crisp, as the zoomed in image was pixelated, but Marcia thought she read worry and anxiety on the child’s face. Get away from that mad man!Marcia's mind pleaded. Run! But the child didn't try to get away. Instead, it casually turned to look at General Adams, who had managed to lift the overhead door about three feet off the ground.

  The soldiers stopped running and raised their weapons.

  “What are they doing!” Marcia said, stabbing an index finger at the screen. “They can't shoot, they’ll hit the child!”

  “Lieutenant, tell them to stand down!” Oscar ordered.

  “Stand down! Stand down!” the lieutenant screamed into the radio.