by Kyle Pratt
Caden found his phone under a dozen papers on his desk and called General Harwich. After fifteen minutes on hold, he made it through.
“Major Westmore, it’s good to hear from you. Is everything well in Hansen?”
“Yes sir,” Caden replied. “Now it is, but I’m hearing reports of the spread of a deadly influenza virus.”
The General was silent for a moment. “We hoped to keep that news contained for a few more days.”
“That may not be possible, sir.”
General Harwich sighed. “I’ll call some people in. Be at the Emergency Operations Center tomorrow at 0900.”
After the call, Caden walked over to the XO’s office still deep in thought. “I’m going to a meeting tomorrow in Olympia.”
“This is short notice.” Brooks frowned. “Is there a problem?”
Caden hadn’t told him about the virus. Why bother when it might never be an issue, but now he thought he should. “Isn’t there always a problem?”
Brooks shrugged.
“Well…right now I don’t know much, but....” Caden told him what he knew. I’ll brief you when I get back. Until then keep it quiet. There’s no reason to start a panic.” Then he remembered the list of medical supplies Dr. Scott gave him. “I’ll do a supply run while I’m there. Add these medicines to the current requisition list and have a deuce and a half and a fueler ready first thing tomorrow.”
Brooks nodded, looking over the list of medicines.
The morning sun turned the sky from black to dark blue as Caden drove to the armory the next morning. Other units would arrive early in Olympia and grab supplies before the meeting. Caden wanted to be first in line.
He retrieved the printed requisition list from the supply clerk and examined it while he headed toward the motor pool. Zach Brennon just finished fueling one of the trucks as Caden arrived. “Why aren’t you in school?”
“Ah, because, sir, it’s 6:30 in the morning.”
Caden checked his watch. The young man was correct about the time. After the terror attacks and chaos, Zach and his sister, Vicki, caught fish along a stream near the Westmore farm to feed themselves and others. The young man dropped out of school to help find food, but insisted his sister keep going. Caden admired that about the young man and encouraged him to return. “How are you doing with your classes?”
“Good, sir. I should graduate in December.”
Lieutenant Brooks entered the motor pool followed by a half-dozen soldiers.
Zach put on the gas cap and replaced the nozzle. “The trucks are fueled and ready, Lieutenant.”
Brooks nodded then turned and saluted Caden. “Have a good trip, sir.”
He returned the salute. “When is Fletcher supposed to report in?”
“Later this morning.”
As the sun rose over the nearby trees, the convoy, with Caden’s SUV, rumbled toward Olympia. Although gasoline had become more available, it was expensive. Few vehicles were on the roads during the day, and this early in the morning there were even less.
Over the summer they’d moved the supply depot closer to the port. Caden sighed as they arrived; a dozen trucks were already lined up at the gate. Two armed guards checked their identity and paperwork before allowing them in the compound surrounded by chain-link fence and topped with rolled razor wire. Several Humvees and deuce-and-a-half trucks stood idle before a line of warehouses in the parking lot.
Caden pointed to a nondescript office. “Park over there,” he told the driver. Once inside, he handed the requisitions to a supply clerk.
“We’ve been seeing more requests for anti-viral medications.” He shook his head. “If we still have them, they’ll be at the medical warehouse on the end.”
Caden jogged to the last building and checked with the supply officer.
“No, we haven’t had these in nearly a month. Lots of meds are difficult to find.”
“Thanks.” Caden walked from the office. “Get everything you can,” he said to the sergeant with the convoy, “and then return to Hansen. I’ll head back on my own later.” Caden drove his SUV to the Emergency Operations Center.
Moments later he parked outside the Wainwright building and checked his watch. “Almost 0900.” He hurried into the building, found the elevator in use and sped up the stairs to the third floor.
Exiting the stairwell he stepped into a crowd milling about. Caden wondered if these people were there for his meeting or some other. Eventually he noticed a young second lieutenant giving directions and asked him.
“Yes, this is the right place. Follow me.” He ushered him down the hall past the EOC. “We’re merely running behind.”
Hurry up and wait. Caden was familiar with the concept.
They arrived at a large metal door with a small blue label that read, 315. A keypad was on the wall beside the door. The lieutenant punched in the combination and the door buzzed.
Caden pushed it open and stepped into the entryway. Heavy double doors stood just five feet ahead. Going through into the conference room he recognized the design. Keypad at the entrance, secure metal doors, sturdy walls with no windows; he hadn’t been here before, but he knew the design, this was a SCIF for classified briefings. “Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility—for the flu,” he mumbled. This might be worse than he imagined.
Two tables sat in the form of a capital “T.” Half of the chairs were already occupied. David Weston was seated at center top. They exchanged smiles and nods as Caden approached the tables. Several people he didn’t recognize sat on either side of Weston.
Caden sat near the top of the leg of the “T.” He recognized the colonel across from him, but struggled to recall his name. He had gray hair and a rough masculine face. In another time Caden would have envisioned him as a cowboy, but right now the cowboy was turned in his seat, talking to someone still standing. Caden couldn’t see his nametag.
Then the roughrider turned and locked eyes on Caden. “Hello, I’m Colonel Hutchison, from the south central region.”
“Nice to meet you, sir, I’m Major Westmore.”
“Yes, I see.” He pointed to the nametag. “Our areas of control border each other. My headquarters is in Yakima.”
Caden nodded. He knew the names and regions for all the area commanders. “I believe you have the largest area.”
“In square miles, yes. Most of it is farmland, hills and scrub brush.” A grin spread on the colonel’s face. “I read your Operation Lexington report. Your fight with the terrorists made for some good reading.”
Caden smiled and for the next few minutes they discussed shared problems.
When more than a dozen people entered the room with several civilians, Weston stood. “If everyone would please be seated we will get this briefing started.”
Voices subsided and everyone took a seat along the tables.
“The governor asked you all here today so we could advise you of a growing public health issue.”
“Public health?” With a puzzled look, Colonel Hutchison shook his head . “I’m dealing with gangs, hunger and lawlessness—.”
Weston held up his hand in a stop motion. “And soon you’ll be dealing with this. Three weeks ago reports came from the Chinese zone of a deadly form of influenza the refugees call the Kern flu.”
“What! Why haven’t we heard about this before?” a major down the table from Caden asked.
“We requested the media hold off reporting on it for a few days while we determined the extent of the threat, attempted to contain the outbreak, and prepared useful information.”
“Has it been contained?”
“No.” Weston sighed deeply. “It’s spreading.”
The room burst into questions and talk.
When Weston regained control of the room he said, “That was the layman’s brief. I’ll let Dr. Eaton from the Washington state Department of Health give you the medical details.”
As Weston sat an older man on his right stood. “My aide will pass out pac
kets with the latest information and procedures for the medical personnel in your areas.”
He gestured to a young woman burdened with a stack of blue folders in her arms.
“Please pass these down,” she said and plopped a stack on the table next to Caden.
Caden did so as the doctor continued.
“We are dealing with a new, highly pathogenic, subtype of the H1N1 influenza virus,” Eaton continued. “It is airborne and once infected the onset of symptoms is swift. For the first few hours it can appear as a bad cold, but this is soon followed by extreme fatigue, fever, headache, vomiting….”
Caden’s gut tightened into a knot. Images of sick and dying people filled his mind. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the doctor.
“…this harsh cough can tear abdominal muscles and cause internal bleeding. All of this leads to a cytokine storm that can kill in less than 48 hours.”
“What is that…ah, cytokine storm?” Caden asked.
The doctor rubbed his chin. “It’s an overreaction of the immune system, a kind of last-ditch effort to destroy the virus, but which often kills the patient. We saw this with the Spanish Flu of 1918.”
“That epidemic killed millions.” A man on Caden’s right said.
“Actually it was a pandemic, worldwide, and killed 50 to 100 million people,” Dr. Eaton corrected.
“And the Kern flu is like that one?” Colonel Hutchison asked.
“Yes.”
Again the room erupted into a myriad of questions and discussions.
Weston stood and held up his hands. “We’ll get nowhere with this uproar. Everyone settle down and let the doctor continue.”
Dr. Eaton massaged his forehead as attention in the room turned to him. “I heard several of you ask if there is a vaccine. No, but several medical centers are working on it.”
“When do you expect the illness to arrive in this area?” a woman asked.
The doctor shrugged. “We don’t know. The Chinese aren’t saying anything officially, but refugees have reported widespread infection in the Oakland and Ventura area. Texas military units serving in New Mexico have reported cases. In areas we control, we’ve seen infections in Medford, Oregon and Carson City, Nevada. We’ve implemented containment procedures at all ports and airports under our control, but if an infected person drives, or flies, before they show symptoms, we could see cases in this area in the next few days.”
Chapter Five
Olympia, Tuesday, September 22nd
For a moment the room was silent, and then exploded with rapid fire questions.
“When will there be a vaccine?”
Dr. Eaton shook his head. “We don’t know.”
“How fast does it spread?”
“The R-Naught Factor is between three and five.”
“What?”
“It spreads quickly.”
“What percentage dies?”
“That varies greatly depending on age, health and access to treatment.” Eaton sighed. “We estimate a twenty to twenty-five percent mortality rate.”
“When are you going to tell the public?”
“We’ve been waiting until we knew what we were dealing with. There will be a press conference later today. I suspect everyone will know about Kern flu by tomorrow.”
The room fell into a hush, followed by another flurry of queries. Over the next hour the pace of questions slowed. Eventually Weston stood and glanced at his watch. “Well, I guess that concludes the medical briefing. We’ll break for lunch in a moment, but first let me give you the good news and the bad. The good news is we’re paying for lunch.” Weston slid a stack of lunch coupons to Caden. “Take one and pass them down please.” Returning his gaze to the table at large, he continued. “The bad news is lunch is at the cafeteria in this building.”
Laughter arose from several around the table.
“It’s not that bad,” someone said.
“It’s not that good either,” someone else said.
General Harwich stood. “We started late and that briefing was longer than planned. Be back here at 1300 and we’ll continue with security issues and the current tactical and strategic military situation.
Caden checked his watch, it was just after noon. Despite the grumbles of his stomach, he looked through the blue packet of information while most others left. As he stood, an aide projected the current sitrep map of the country on the screen.
Colorado had been a battle ground when he had last seen such a map. Now most of the United States west of the Mississippi and north of Oklahoma and New Mexico was colored blue, Constitutionalist states loyal to the new congress. Most of the U.S. east of the Mississippi was still colored red, controlled by Durant’s forces.
The southwest, under Chinese control, was colored maroon. Northern Utah, Texas, eastern New Mexico, and Oklahoma were green. Orange dots with tails arcing away marked the contaminated zones.
Then he noticed a new state. The northern third of California, under Constitutionalist control, was labeled, “Jefferson.”
Caden’s stomach grumbled. Mulling all he had seen and heard that morning, he sought lunch. He knew about the cafeteria, but not its location. Following signs and slow moving individuals, he descended to the first floor where he followed his nose to the far corner of the building.
The smells were enticing, but the prices outrageous. A burger and fries was nearly twenty dollars or three dollars NSC.
For the first time he actually read what was on the chit. Printed in red letters was, “Limit $4.00 NSC.”
“What is ‘NSC?’” a lieutenant ahead of him asked the woman behind the counter.
“New silver certificate or coin. The Denver mint has started issuing them, but I’ve only seen them on the lunch coupons. I’m told they’ll replace the old money.”
Caden had heard rumors, but never seen any of this new money. He looked at the coupon in his hand. Inflation was rampant making meat a luxury. The thought of someone else paying for the beef he would eat was too good to pass up. With a smile he handed over the voucher. “I’ll have the burger and fries.”
He walked away from the counter still smiling.
Colonel Hutchison motioned for Caden to join him and another officer.
Hutchison gestured toward the other man, when he sat. “Major Westmore this is Major Dowrick. He doesn’t talk much, says that’s because he works in intelligence, but he listens well and asks good questions.”
Dowrick was about ten years older with thinning hair.
Caden smiled. “Hello.”
“Hello. I do work in intelligence but the reason he thinks I don’t talk much is because, around him, I don’t get much of a chance to speak.”
Again Caden smiled and then bit into his burger. As he and Hutchison talked about families, schools and duty stations, Dowrick listened and said little.
Caden smiled as he again bit into the juicy char-broiled burger and let it roll along his tongue. More than once he tried to answer a question with meat, lettuce and tomato still in his mouth.
“So…” the colonel asked, “What do you think about this talk of pandemic?”
Caden shook his head. “I’d rather be fighting people…something physical that I can see.”
Hutchison laughed. “I agree.” He slapped his hand on the table. “That’s exactly it. We were trained to fight the enemy, not manage a quarantine of the sick and dying.” The colonel finished his burger and pushed the plate aside. “The doctors need to do their job—find a vaccine. That way we can get on with taking the battle to Durant. Fighting, that’s what we do.”
Caden wanted the same things, a vaccine and Durant defeated, but he sensed their motivations were different. He stuffed the last bite of burger in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and excused himself.
Reaching the briefing room, he walked in on a dozen officers staring, pointing, and gesturing at the screen. Caden sat at the table and joined others in scrutinizing the sitrep map.
A few
feet away, Weston wrote while staring at the table. When the last few entered the room, he stood. “Welcome back. If everyone would be seated, we’ll get started. General Harwich will conduct most of the meeting this afternoon, but I thought I’d provide a brief political update.
“After Durant’s forces were defeated in the Denver area the new congress of the United States established the temporary capital there. They’ve met there now for three months. Acting President Durant remains in New York City surrounded by civilian and military loyalists. Effectively, he is now a dictator in control of much of the east.”
Images of Becky flashed through Caden’s mind. Once they had loved each other and planned to marry, but events, both good and evil, pulled them apart. He thought of her now with fondness, but without love or regret. It was Maria that now came to mind when he thought of love, home, and family.
Weston was still talking. “…have two centers of government that aren’t cooperating, or even communicating, with each other.” He shrugged. “Durant has only been in control for eight months and has spent most of that time dealing with the same issues we have struggled with, food shortages and economic depression. Also, he needs to consolidate power and authority. I believe he is still working on that and will fight when he is ready.
“I’m sure you know all that.” Weston waved his hand dismissively. “However, what might be news to many in this room is that this morning the congress asked the Speaker of the House, John Harper, to fill in as president until the November election.”
“Harper? Isn’t he like ninety years old?” a young lieutenant asked.
Weston grinned. “Seventy-eight and he only has to do the job until the election on November 8th.”