Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  “Okay, obviously you’ve taken a great deal of interest in me. And, I want to know why.”

  Colonel Starkes finished a bite of stale cracker. Her eyes saddened. “Sure. I'll tell you what I know."

  "Good. Thank you."

  "Yeah, well, H5N has essentially destroyed the human race. If you toss in the after effects of radiation poisoning, cholera, along with a host of other nasty diseases, you have a slam dunk.”

  Nicole waited for more, but Colonel Starkes lapsed into a pensive silence. Nicole prompted her. “Okay. Sure, I hear you. A boatload of people died. But, some of us are still here, right? We just have to start small.”

  “No, that’s not it. H5N1 and its airborne viral mutations had a hidden weapon in its arsenal that’s only come to light in the past few years.”

  “Which is?”

  “Well, the kicker is that H5N1 made all human males sterile. My DARPA lab confirmed this. This feature of the viral strain permeated the entire world population. The men around you are now sterile. And, at the time of the H5N1 avian pandemic, I was Deputy Director of DARPA’s Special Projects.”

  “DARPA?”

  “It stands for the Defense Advance Research Projects Agency. You can kinda consider it like the central research arm of the Department of Defense. Black listed. Mega money.”

  “Oh.”

  “Medical research indicates this male sterility is a worldwide event. Apparently, once the virus mutated to go airborne, it had a ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent sterility rate, whether it killed you or not. Sorta like all men on earth caught a real bad case of the mumps.”

  “Wow! You mean…”

  “Yeah, Nicole. That’s right. That child of yours is a national treasure. He’s not supposed to happen. And, as I see it, he’s to be guarded with the lives of myself and all my team.”

  “Oh, I guess that does explain your interest.” Nicole stroked her baby’s cheek, swaddling him deeper into the green army blanket she’d received.

  “Yeah, Nicole. Well, we’re very interested in you and your baby. ”

  “How’d you find me?”

  “A passing comment made by a hammer named Carl Rourke. Know him?”

  “Uh, you mean Weird Carl? He died about a month ago. He lives about a mile from here in a farm basement.”

  “I didn’t know he died. Though that explains why we haven't heard any ham radio transmissions from him lately. We thought it might’ve been his windmill breaking down. Anyway, we heard from Carl and decided to verify his story of a young woman with a newborn. It took a lot of energy and coordination to fly this bird out here, but being president helped.” Colonel Starkes chuckled and regarded Nicole and her baby. “Seems like I was right to make the effort.”

  Nicole dropped the can of soda and stood. Trembling, she studied the ring of men and hugged her baby tightly. “I won’t let you take my baby. No way!”

  “Nicole, take it easy,” said Colonel Starkes, soothingly, “No one wants to do that. Please believe me. We’re interested is all. We’d like to better understand you and your baby. Maybe run some tests. You can be with him all the time, if you like. I promise. That little boy you’re holding is very important to the world. And we'd really like to find this Connor Mac.”

  Nicole studied Colonel Starkes for a moment. She relaxed and sat. “Okay, I’m thinking I might be able to trust you some, colonel."

  "Good."

  "And I imagine there’s plenty more where CJ came from.”

  “CJ?”

  “Connor Junior. I named him after his daddy. I thought it was the right thing to do.”

  “What do you mean plenty more?”

  Nicole smiled mischievously. “Well, I guess you’ll see, if and when you find Connor Mac.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Colonel Starkes, not quite sure where Nicole was going.

  “Hah. Look at you!”

  “What?”

  “Gettin’ all hot and bothered.”

  “I am not,” said Colonel Starkes, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.

  “Okay, let me put it to you this way. How old are you, colonel?”

  “It’s Hannah. Please call me Hannah. And I’m thirty-six. What possible bearing does that have on this conversation?”

  "Okay, Hannah. Let’s just say that you’re a very attractive women."

  "Umm, thanks, I guess."

  "What I mean is, since I'm an artist, I see you got those chocolate brown eyes and huge eyelashes on that pretty heart-shaped face. A good tight bod and all that." Colonel Starkes cleared her throat, embarrassed. "And, if and when you find Connor Mac, you’ll probably be pregnant in a week if he takes an interest in you.”

  “What?” Colonel Starkes heard a few snickers from a few of the surrounding men, but kept her attention focused on Nicole.

  “Hannah, if you find him, you’ll find him irresistible. Just like I did. He has something about him—I don’t know—a chemistry, a magnetism. Just a very nice way about him.”

  Flustered, Colonel Starkes became lost in unbidden erotic images. A fierce man atop her, hard, ready—

  “I’m serious, Hannah,” said Nicole, interrupting the Colonel’s thoughts, “You’ll see. That is, if he wants to be found.”

  “Can you describe him for me? In as much detail as you can?”

  “Sure.”

  “Fantastic. Umm...uh...you wouldn’t happen to have a picture of him, would you? I know that’s an absolutely ridiculous question in this day and age, but I have to ask. You know, just in case.”

  “You’re taking me and CJ out of here? To plenty of food and Camp David and good treatment?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you promise, as president, not to take CJ from me?”

  “I promise.”

  “If that's true, I can give you something better than a picture.”

  “How?”

  “Like I said, I was an accomplished artist in the City before the Sickness came. While we were together, I drew Connor Mac several times. I kept a few of the smaller paintings while I moved around. I'll get them.” She stood and shouldered her way through the ring of men, holding CJ tightly.

  Colonel Starkes motioned for a few of her men to accompany Nicole to her hidey-hole. In minutes she returned, offering her drawings for Hannah's scrutiny.

  “He certainly is... ahh... handsome,” said Colonel Starkes, “in a very rugged way.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “Are his eyes really that deep shade of brown with those bright green-gold flecks? Is that smile for real?”

  Nicole laughed. “See what I mean! See what I'm saying?”

  “C’mon, Nicole. It’s a painting. I think you’re a fantastic artist, but nobody can look that good.” Colonel Starkes spoke quietly to keep the conversation away from the ring of men surrounding them. She pulled the eight by eight inch oil painting out of the Ziploc bag for closer inspection.

  “Yeah, Hannah, he's that handsome. In fact, my artwork doesn’t begin to capture the charm and charisma that man has. It’s such a natural part of him; I don’t think he even notices it. But, I’ll tell you a little secret.”

  "Yeah?"

  "He saved me from a bunch of men and an old woman who were planning on using me as a slave. I was grateful. After he fed me, I was so grateful I was ready to repay him in any way he liked with anything I had to offer.”

  “Oh.”

  “But instead, like the gentleman he was, he let me use his sleeping bag to get a real night’s sleep. He sat next to me all night, on guard."

  "Oh, wow."

  "And I admit, it was probably the first true night of rest I’d had in years. I felt so unbelievably safe. But you know, I woke once when the fire popped and saw him glance at me above the book he was reading. He smiled and I went back to sleep. I remember smiling myself in contentment.

  "What was he reading?"

  "Umm, I think it was—Lord of the Flies. I felt safe with him. All he had to do was smile at me and I knew
everything would be okay.”

  Colonel Starkes continued to study the painting. “Did he tell you how he got that small scar?” she asked, pointing at a small discoloration above his left eyebrow.

  “Yeah, I asked him once. He told me he ran into an open door. But Connor Mac's a terrible liar. I didn’t believe him and asked him to tell me for real. I remember he stopped smiling and it scared me. His face had turned deadly—it was the same intense face he used when he took care of those assholes who caught me.”

  Hannah nodded sympathetically, a simple encouragement for Nicole to continue.

  “But his look faded quick like he was caught showing me emotions that he didn’t want to show. Then he said he owed a staff sergeant from Kentucky for that.”

  Colonel Starkes stood quickly, overturning the five-gallon drum on which she sat. “Of course! Why didn't I see this before? Connor Mac’s military!”

  “Yeah, I guess.” answered Nicole.

  “Do you know when he served, Nicole? Which branch? Do you know anything about his service time?” Colonel Starkes was intense, focused. When she noticed that Nicole looked panicky, she contained her excitement. She righted the overturned bucket and sat.

  “I'm sorry, Nicole, it’s just that we still have some access to working computers and databases, specifically military. I should’ve known Connor Mac was military. Dammit!"

  "Why? Why should you have known that?"

  "Well, most soldiers, and sometimes their families, received preventative flu injections during wartime deployment. This has greatly augmented existing immunity to the Sickness.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s the strong military angle to this survival equation.”

  “Uh, huh,” said Nicole. CJ stirred in her arms and she consoled him with soft words.

  “Nicole,” said Colonel Starkes, “what did he tell you about his military service time?”

  "I never paid much attention to that kinda stuff. I can't remember him talking much about the military.”

  “Major O’Malley, please join us,” said Colonel Starkes. The major approached and glanced shyly at Nicole.

  “Yes, colonel?”

  “Major, Nicole's about to give us information on Connor Mac. Please take notes.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Colonel Starkes gathered her thoughts. “Nicole, what can you tell us? Don’t leave anything out—if it’s about Connor Mac, I want to know.”

  “Okay. Lemme think. Um, Connor Mac said that he was a parachute guy—no, he said paratrooper. Air something.”

  “Airborne?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. And I think he said a number with that—eighty something.”

  “82nd Airborne?"

  “That sounds right,” answered Nicole.

  “Do you have any idea of Connor Mac’s last name?”

  “No. He was always Connor Mac to me.”

  “Age?”

  “He said thirty-six, but I didn’t believe him. He seemed much younger than that.”

  “Okay. Major?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Start immediately. A bottle of Glenlivet from my private stock for each man back home that helps identify Connor Mac."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Tell Jimmy to start the search on the Intrex System. If he can't find it there, tell him to check into Kojak and the archives. He has my password.”

  “Yes, colonel,” said Major O’Malley. Nicole studied the major intently as he walked toward the helicopter.

  She turned her attention back to Colonel Starkes. “Umm, colonel—Hannah, if you’re now the President of the United States, why don’t they call you Madam President?”

  Colonel Starkes smiled and took her time before answering, primarily to calm her own curiosity about Connor Mac. She bit delicately into another stale cracker. She tentatively reached out, touching the pink and rosy cheek of CJ.

  “Well, Nicole, I’ve explained this many times, so the answer’s pretty easy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The way I figure it, I earned the title of full bird colonel. That’s a pretty big deal, by the way. I worked hard for that rank and I’m proud of it. Believe me, I was fast-tracked for my ability in the field and in the lab. It had nothing to do with the fact that I'm a woman, but many people thought that. Besides, there’s no one we've found who outranks me.”

  “Oh.”

  “So being Colonel Starkes is better than being Madam President.”

  “Umm, how so?”

  “Well, because the military wouldn’t have let the H5N1 Avian Flu become the political clusterfuck that it became. And, being the highest ranking military officer in the United States makes me golden in the eyes of these men.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  “It’s the only way we’ve kept things together so far. Nicole, this was once a great country and I really think that we can rise above this devastation point. You and your child will be a big part of it.”

  "Wow."

  CHAPTER 1.6-Dusting Off the Old Blue Quilt

  Snuff rested atop Connor, her body content and her breathing regular and deep. Hesitant to wake her, he decided not to move for a time, suspecting that the deepness of her sleep had further to go—she was exhausted. After a few more moments, he gently shifted, easing her onto the carpet. With care, he placed her rifle next to her right hand, as previously instructed in situations like this, and walked naked to the back bedroom. Retrieving a large blue quilt, he shook it sharply to rid it of dust, and returned to the living room. Amanda was sleeping soundly on her side and Connor took a few seconds to admire the beautiful lines of her naked body before gently covering her. He snatched a cigarette from the open pack near the fire and moved quietly through the kitchen. Standing at the kitchen window, he stared out at an empty field that was lit softly by a half moon hanging low in a cloudless sky. He flicked his cigarette ashes onto the floor, cupping his hand over the cigarette when he took a drag. On guard, he searched vigilantly for any movement that shouldn’t be there.

  CHAPTER 1.7-Return to Boot Camp

  Marty left the farmhouse at about two o’clock in the morning. Nobody heard him leave. The men he had assigned to guard duty were all sleeping. Abandoning your unit by falling asleep on guard is a court martial offense in the military. There was absolutely nothing worse than finding out you couldn’t trust the people with whom you kept company. He took off on his own, thinking that he'd be safer without this bunch of low-lifes. He wondered why he had considered hooking up with them in the first place. He walked east through the darkness for an hour and bedded down for the night, a bit on the hungry side, but confident about the prospects of the nearing day.

  He woke from a light sleep into a clear dawn. He heard a soft noise and when he opened his eyes, he spotted a fawn nudging the ground near a small maple about ten feet away. The mother fed on leafy weeds a few yards beyond the young one. Nothing on Marty’s body had moved except his eyelids. He had slept with his unsheathed knife in his hand, a habit for the last few years, and he tracked the fawn with his eyes, willing the animal to move closer to his position. As each minute passed, the fawn moved closer to Marty as if his thoughts controlled the animal. The fawn turned broadside to Marty and continued its turn until it faced its mother. By pure insane luck, the fawn backed up a step, presumably to capture a particularly tasty morsel, and Marty chose this time to act, knowing that there would be no better opportunity. At his first movement, the fawn and its mother became aware of him. While the mother escaped easily, the fawn had wandered too close. Marty salivated as he cut its throat.

  Wasting no time, he dragged the fawn to the maple, roped its hind legs with a thin nylon cord from his pack, and tied it upside down to a low limb. Aided by gravity, the fawn’s blood drained quickly and Marty began skinning with practiced ease. He built a small fire and began cutting short strips of meat from the draining carcass. He laid the strips of meat on the small grill grate he carried for that purpose. He'd have to f
ind a new grate—the steel rods that crisscrossed his were nearly burnt through.

  When the meat was cooked to his satisfaction, he wolfed down a half dozen pieces and salted the rest for later. He needed to find more salt; his supply was running low. He untied what was left of the fawn, letting the butchered remains fall to the ground. He gathered his weapons and gear, settled his backpack comfortably on his shoulders, and exited the treeline. He moved due east through what were once surely the neat furrows of a cornfield. The human scum he left at the farmhouse were no longer his concern.

  It was difficult for him to believe his own luck with the fawn. It wasn’t as if deer were scarce, but killing one wasn't as easy at it seemed. Sure, he could have easily shot one, but ammunition for the sniper rifle or his Colt was much too valuable to waste in the killing of game when other means were at hand.

  As he walked through the field, his thoughts turned to his disturbing dreams of the night. He hadn’t thought of boot camp for many years and he was surprised at the emotions that his thoughts dredged up. In the dream, he felt exceptionally tired and terribly hungry. He was lying in thick, wet mud and his exhaustion made him unsure of his ability to continue. Shivering in remembrance, he braced himself for the harsh words of the drill sergeant as the dream sequence flashed again.

  “Get up, soldier!” Incongruently, the staff sergeant reached down into the mud to hand him a bright blue towel, embroidered with the name “Sarah”. The real-time Marty’s knees weakened with the memory. In the dream, Marty accepted the towel while he tried in vain to rise, his exhausted arms refusing to obey. Yanked roughly to his feet, he came face to face with the scowling countenance of Connor. “You stayin’ and playin' or leavin' and sceamin'?" growled Connor, oddly smiling.

  Marty felt naked before Connor’s smile. Yet, he also felt a renewed sense of energy seep into his exhausted body. Shaking his head, he broke free from the dream images and increased his pace into the rising sun. It was still early in the morning and the sun was low, painting his view with bright golden hues. Mesmerized by the vista, he slipped back into the clear memories of the dream.