The Melanin Apocalypse

by Darrell Bain

  “I’m a scientist! I’m trying to help you!” Mary pleaded over and over, but it did her no good. She was dragged kicking and screaming back into the store. Before long she was crying, then begging for mercy.

  Shortly after that she began wishing for death, so the pain and degradation would be over with. Her wish was granted, but not before her abused body became almost unrecognizable.

  * * *

  “I still can’t believe she’s gone,” June said to Doug when she called him. It was Wednesday evening but she was still at work. “My God, what a horrible way to die.”

  “June, at the risk of sounding blasé about it, we’re going to see more and more incidents like the one that Mary Hedgrade got caught up in. I feel horrible about it, even though I didn’t know her that well. Damn it to hell, the president should have activated the National Guard unit there or brought in some army troops to help maintain order. He knows damn well what the proportion of black residents in the capitol is and how they would react. Damn politics!”

  “She was… I guess I knew her a little better than you, since my job brought me into contact with her now and then. She’s…” There was an interval of silence while Doug waited for her to begin speaking again. He knew she was trying to get her voice under control. Presently she resumed. “She was the Director for a long time, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, she was practically an institution here. Well, I guess that takes care of our plans for tonight, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry, Doug. I was looking forward to it, but God knows what time I’ll get away. Amelia is in conference right now. This isn’t for publication, but I think she may be nominated for Mary’s spot.”

  “If anyone deserves it, Amelia does. Look, I know you must be busy. Call me later if you get some time.”

  “I will. And we’ll get together Saturday if nothing else happens.”

  Doug gave a short, mirthless chuckle. “No telling what things will be like by then, but unless you hear differently, I’m still free.”

  “Me, too. So far. ‘Bye, Doug. Take care.”

  “You, too. Don’t leave the complex unless I can be with you. Okay?’

  “I won’t, you can bet on that!”

  * * *

  “I really didn’t want this,” Amelia said, talking as much to herself as to June. She was cleaning out her desk and sorting through items accumulated over the years, some she had completely forgotten about.

  “I’d much rather stay in field work than go completely into administration. It’s so damned boring and politics-ridden.”

  “Can’t you have refused?” June asked, pulling the drawstrings closed on one bag of discarded bric-a-brac from Amelia’s desk then shaking out another.

  “It’s kind of hard to turn down a direct request from the president.” Amelia peeled off her knee length white lab coat and stared at it for a moment. “Guess I won’t be needing this anymore.” She folded it into a neat bundle then looked at June and managed a wry grin. “Don’t mind me, I’m just talking to myself.”

  “That’s all right, Amelia. Or should I address you as Madame Director?”

  “Oh, Lord, June—let’s not have any of that! And while I’m on the subject, do you want to come along with me? I’m going to need an assistant I’m comfortable with. Think before you say yes. It’s going to be a pluperfect headache, I can tell you that.”

  June knew this would come up. Like Amelia, she wasn’t ready to get completely away from field work, but also like her, felt an obligation to serve where she could be the most useful. Reluctantly, she nodded.

  “I guess if you can stand it, I can. I just hope it doesn’t take up all of our time.”

  Amelia smiled knowingly. “Well, regardless, I insisted on having a full week to wind up affairs in this office before taking over the job. You can have the weekend off, just like you planned. Enjoy it, because it may be the last one for a while.”

  June wondered why she was blushing. It wasn’t a crime to date a man, not after two years of being a widow. Maybe it was because she was seriously considering turning it into more than a mere date.

  * * *

  President Marshall was relaxing. He had just finished with his last appointment of the morning and was having his lunch and preparing for a short nap, his unvarying noon routine. His feet were propped on his desk in the Oval Office while he munched on a sandwich. He liked to eat in the office; it saved time and was conducive to thinking. He had made it very plain that he wasn’t to be disturbed during his lunch hour for anything less than a nuclear war, the Rapture or an alien invasion.

  The lone secret service agent who always stood unobtrusively against the wall behind the president stayed out of his line of sight. He used text messaging and a vibration alert for his phone to avoid distracting him. Suddenly the agent felt his phone vibrate. He held it up to read the message. Only his training kept him from avoiding panic.

  “Mr. President! Get up, sir! Danger One!”

  Danger one was the code for a possible attempt on the president’s life. Marshall’s feet hit the floor with a thump just as two more agents burst into the oval office. Before he could get his mind in order the agents had him by the arms, one on each side, and were hustling him away.

  “Hey! What—”

  “No time, sir! The White House is about to be overrun! You have to get away!”

  “Overrun? Who—goddamnit, where’s the army? Where’s the guards? Do something!”

  Neither of the agents answered. They hurried the president along, following two more agents toward the safe room beneath the White House. The two in front were carrying on a conversation on their phones, trying to keep ahead of the threat.

  By the time the elevator door closed behind them, Lurline Tedd, Chief of Staff for the White House, was by his side. As soon as the president saw her, he began to calm down. Lurline wouldn’t let anything happen to him; she was always on top of whatever crisis might be threatening.

  “Lurline, what is it?” He asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

  “The demonstrations got out of hand, then they were joined by half the blacks in the city. The guards had to open fire, and that only enraged them. I’ve got General Newman bringing in a paratroop division to restore order,” Lurline said in her even, matter of fact voice. No one had ever seen her out of control, not even for a second.

  “Maybe we better stay away until this virus thing gets cleared up.”

  “You can’t, Mr. President. What would the world think if you couldn’t run the country from your own capitol? Don’t worry, the paratroops will be here soon; they were already on alert. And I want that damn political advisor of yours fired for allowing the demonstration to be held in the first place. It was a stupid decision.”

  Even if Lurline was unflappable, President Marshall thought she looked more worried than he had ever seen her. Just as the elevator doors opened to let them out a rumble was felt vibrating the building from somewhere above. “What was that? Are they using explosives?”

  “RPG, probably,” one of the agents remarked, drawing glares from his superior and Lurline both.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll contain them, sir,” the senior secret service agent tried to assure his boss. But Marshall thought he looked worried, too.

  “How many of them are there? How did they get so close to the White House? Damn it, this shouldn’t be allowed to happen!”

  No one answered him. Instead, he was urged along until they arrived at the “bunker”, as the secure room was called. It was self contained but had an underground passage that led out of the White House and to several different escape routes; including a helicopter landing pad and a ready to go convoy of armored cars.

  President Marshall took his seat at the head of the table in the conference room of the bunker. Soon the smell of coffee permeated the air.

  “Why aren’t the screens lit up? I want to see what’s happening.” Marshall glanced toward one of the walls that held an array of monito
r screens.

  Lurline nodded to one of the agents while she continued making notes on her PDA about how to handle the aftermath of the fiasco. He lit up three of the monitors; one showed national breaking news, the others gave panoramic back and front views of the area around the White House and the streets and buildings beyond, taken from recorders on the rooftop above them. Those two appeared almost identical. The streets swarmed with black citizens, men and women alike. Many of them were climbing over the fences surrounding the White House, using crates and boxes and even a few automobiles as steps. Some fell as Secret Service snipers on the roof fired at them, but the pressure of the mob behind was too great to stop, especially as the rifle fire couldn’t be heard over the crowd noises—and the noise of their own guns.

  The White House guards had all disappeared except for a few uniformed bodies sprawled on the lawn.

  “Good God!” the president exclaimed. He felt a queasy sense of fear begin to envelop him. “We’d better get out of here!”

  “We’re working on it, Mr. President. We have to be certain that the other end of an escape route is open before leaving. Don’t worry; no one can find their way down here.” Lurline didn’t mention what might happen if the building were set on fire.

  It was another half hour before a way was found to leave safely. All the while, President Marshall watched the scenes around the White House as if mesmerized. He took one look back over his shoulder as he was being escorted out. An army helicopter had been trying to rescue the snipers from the roof.

  The helicopter began smoking, whether from gunfire or mechanical problems wasn’t apparent, but the result was catastrophic. It tilted sideways and made an arc toward the ground. It crashed directly into the dense blanket of humanity, then exploded in a ball of fire. Flames were licking at fallen bodies and running figures from the periphery of the crash site as the door closed behind him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was a bad week for Doug. Bob Handley had hung on long past the time they expected him to, but he finally died. Doug was almost glad when he passed away. He had suffered great pain at the end, refusing narcotics so that he could remain coherent. His wife called Doug to tell him when it was over.

  “I’m sorry, Joan. He was a good friend. Is there anything I can do?”

  “You can kill those bastards that started this if you ever find them,” Mrs. Handley sobbed.

  He thought it better not to answer that. Instead, he asked “Are you still feeling all right, Joan? How about the kids?”

  “We’re okay so far, Doug, but… oh God, why is this happening? Who could hate us so much?”

  Doug had no answer for her, nor did anyone else. The week ended with the Harcourt virus still raging uncontrolled, but with the White House back in the hands of the government.

  Doug had spent more time watching that event play out than he should have, missing sleep and then having bad dreams over some of the scenes the cameras showed. The exploding helicopter was what had effectively ended the siege, burning a huge swath through the crowd and stampeding most of the rest of them. Armored personnel carriers began pushing onto the grounds by evening, leading a reinforced paratroop battalion in on foot as it had been decided it was too dangerous to jump in. Even so, the soldiers took casualties from remnants of the mob firing from behind overturned vehicles and windows of buildings, venting their pent up anger in the only way they thought was left to them. Finally, the commander ordered heavy weapons into action. Any place harboring snipers was leveled to the ground.

  Automatic sprinklers saved the White house from burning, but there was still damage, a lot of it caused from the army troops who had gone through the building room by room, shooting at anything that moved.

  Several clerks and service people who had managed to hide in nooks and crannies from the mob were killed by mistake before it was over.

  The carnage outside was sickening. Burned and mutilated bodies lay where they had fallen while more soldiers poured into the area and began clearing and securing an area stretching in a half mile radius around the White House, and clamping heavy controls on an even wider circle. The bodies were still lying where they had fallen when Doug came off duty the next morning. He stayed awake long enough to listen to a bleary eyed president peel off the political gloves and declare martial law in every state of the Union.

  Doug fell asleep before he heard the Presidential Press Secretary began reading off a list of executive orders that would take effect the same day.

  * * *

  The phone woke Doug late that afternoon. He yawned as he reached for it.

  “Hello. Craddock here.”

  “Hi Doug, this is June.”

  He laughed sleepily. “I always recognize your voice. What time is it? Never mind, I see the clock. Hey, I’ve slept all day!”

  June laughed. “Good. Are you still off for a week?”

  “So far. How about you?” He felt a wave of energy surging through his body just from hearing her voice.

  “Just the weekend, but you can come over whenever you’re ready.”

  “All I need to do is get a shower. What can I bring?”

  “Something to drink if you can find anything.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, I guess you haven’t heard. Liquor is going to be rationed. Everyone has been stocking up today.”

  “What—never mind. You can catch me up when I get there. How about food?”

  “Bring some bread if you have any. I’ve been afraid to go shopping.”

  “I could try to find some takeout.”

  “Don’t bother. From what I’ve been hearing, and seeing as I drive, I think most of the fast food places are closed, as well as a good many of the restaurants.”

  Doug knew she was right. He had seen that happening all week as help didn’t show up and drivers failed to make deliveries. “All right. See you in a bit. Keep your doors locked and your gun handy, even if you are living here now. There’s still lots of nut cases loose and this stuff is making them even loonier than usual.”

  “I know. I’ll be careful.”

  Doug stripped off his underwear and showered quickly, feeling guilty for not having taken June to a firing range while they had a chance. He had run her through a dry firing exercise, but nothing gave a person a feel for a handgun except actually shooting one. Tomorrow maybe.

  Before leaving he bundled up a few items to drop off at the dry cleaners in the complex. He glanced at the dishes in the sink and decided they could wait a little longer. He was anxious to see June now that he was clean and dressed in his usual jeans and jacket. He found a package of frozen dinner rolls in the top of the refrigerator and bagged them, along with a few other items, including a bottle of wine and a fifth of rum. He checked the lock on his gun cabinet and the door and headed for his car. If they could manage it, he intended to escort June back to their apartments in the city to pick up a number of items that were already getting hard to find at the CDC complex.

  The dry cleaning store was open, but not taking any new business. The owner was having to do almost all the work by himself and couldn’t handle more customers until he caught up with the backload.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Craddock,” he apologized. Most of my help is either sick, dead, or just left one day and never came back.” Seeing Doug’s stricken look and the size of his laundry bag, he sighed. “All right, you’ve been a good customer. Leave it with me. It will be a day or two longer than usual before it’s ready, though.”

  Doug gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks Billy. I really do appreciate it.”

  * * *

  June had moved into one of the CDC transient apartments just in time, Doug thought. From the number of children playing in the halls and outside under the careful eye of the parents, there were probably no vacancies left. He juggled his bundles and rang her doorbell.

  “Hi, Doug. You look nice and fresh,” June said as she kissed him lightly. She took his plastic bags of goodies while he held onto the bottles
until he was inside and could set them down.

  “You look nice and fresh, too—and also very pretty,” he said. She was wearing white shorts and a pale blue blouse with the tails tied across her middle and a pair of flip flops that looked well worn.

  “Thank you. Take your jacket off and get comfortable. The power has gone off a few times the last few days. In fact, it’s been off in the apartments for a half hour and just came back on. It was getting so warm in here I decided to break out the shorts.”

  Doug wasn’t surprised at the power outages. He had been awake for some of them and knew there would be more and more as time went on. He hung the jacket across the back of a chair, making sure his off duty handgun was easily accessible, and telling June that it was there. After the scenes he had seen of Washington, and with the city population of Atlanta better than fifty per cent black, he wanted to be ready for any contingency, even here, where men that he knew were in charge of security. He had seen re-runs of the Washington mob while dressing, where the press of bodies swept all before them. A handgun probably wouldn’t help in a situation like that, but it was comforting all the same.

  “If you’re not hungry yet, dinner can wait,” June said. “I did some chicken breasts and potato salad.”

  “Sounds good. Frankly, I could do with a stiff drink. It’s been a long week.”

  “I have some coke left if you want to use the rum.”

  “That’s fine. How about you?”

  “Just one, then I’ll switch to wine.”

  Doug found the mix in the refrigerator while June produced glasses. He made the drinks while she busied herself with setting the little table and readying the rolls to brown whenever they decided to eat.

  The transient apartments for singles contained a small kitchen, a combination dining nook and living room, a bathroom, and bedroom. The furniture consisted of a small couch and two other chairs, a little dinette set with folding chairs and a television screen on one wall with computer and phone connections. June’s comphone was such a constant companion on the job that with both wireless and manual connections to the big wall screen available, she hadn’t brought her desk unit.