The Doomsday Infection

by Lamport, Martin

  He wiped his nose noting that the blood seemed thicker than usual, and blacker.

  His head pounded, he shivered with a chill and he ached under his arms, he undid his tunic and was appalled to see dark swellings. He rubbed and it burst covering his hand in thick oozing pus. He backed into the bulkhead and wondered if he had made a mistake by not reporting to the ships surgeon - a deadly mistake. Although, as it turned out, from a contingent of one hundred and twenty men, he would be the only person still alive in twenty-four hours.

  CHAPTER 8

  11:00 AM

  At eleven a.m., Eastern Standard Time Sophie sat in front of her television and on the dot, as promised President Burgess addressed the Nation. Smooth as silk the President addressed the viewers. “Good morning, fellow Americans. It is with a heavy heart and after much soul searching that as of now I have placed southern Florida under quarantine . . . I’ll get to ‘why’ shortly, but it is not without reason that we would take such drastic action.” A map of Florida filled the screen with two dotted lines traversing across the state from left to right. “Everyone below the lower line, roughly from Fort Myers on the gulf coast to Palm Beach on the Atlantic coast are under quarantine, and, a curfew of 1900 hours, will be enforced. This next line approximately ten miles north, is no-man’s-land and will be policed vigorously, this is no time for pussy-footing around, anyone caught will we be detained indefinitely and any sort of resistance will be met by a deadly response.”

  Kill civilians, he means, Sophie thought.

  “Now,” continued the President. “You might think this is overkill, and I’d like to hope that it is, however, we don’t want another 9/11. They caught us with our pants down then and we’re still smarting. Let me tell you why we’re doing this and I think you’ll agree it’s the right action. We’re quarantining southern Florida as there has been a chemical leak.”

  It’s not a leak, thought Sophie. It’s the Bubonic Plague. You must warn them. Tell them the truth.

  “This is only a precaution, but we think the effects are contagious, so with immediate effect all airplanes are grounded, ships, boats, all water-based crafts the same. We’re patrolling the waters and no one is to leave. I cannot emphasize this enough, we must have a full quarantine or it does not work.”

  “People of Florida, help is on its way. The military will be amongst you with medical staff, we will need to check you out and give you the all clear. We will have medical centers, the first one will be at the Marlins Park in Miami, and other sports arenas will follow. As this is a holiday weekend those of you that can, stay away from work-places.” His breathing suddenly labored and he paused briefly, and then corrected himself and smiled.

  Sophie leaned towards her television; he’s not well, she thought, when something caught her eye. She pressed ‘pause’ on the remote control and the broadcast froze on the President’s image. She touched the screen. She had caught a glimpse of an IV tube by his wrist. She pondered this then pressed ‘play’ to hear the rest of the broadcast. “It’s best not to interact with your fellow citizens, cover your nose and mouth with cloth, and PLEASE make your way to the nearest refugee center where you will be given an antidote.”

  There is no antidote. Sophie thought.

  “Thank you for your co-operation and God bless us all.”

  Sophie was thankful that Quinn Martell had managed to impress upon the President the gravity of the situation, even if they were burying the truth, which she could sort of understand, the last thing they needed was wide-scale panic. She smiled thinking of how Luke as a broadcaster would have loved to know the truth and blurt the story to the world without any thought of the consequences, as long as he had his all-important scoop.

  Sophie believed firmly in the truth. She could still remember growing up in her Latin-American homeland, where the ‘truth’ was the least of her worries, where the tin-pot government ruled with an iron fist, shooting the protectors of the truth, the dissenters like her father, God rest his soul. He’d been a vocal political opponent, who’d naively believed that the truth would be his savior. She still remembered the night, when the government’s bullyboys kicked down the front door, and dragged him from his bed. Her mother screamed and was pistol whipped into silence. Her father bravely struggled, but was over-powered and dragged from their home fighting for his life, and Sophie never saw him again.

  During the small hours of the following night, her mother had woken her, dressed her quickly and they’d fled in the clothes they were wearing. Two fishermen who were part of the underground network of sympathizers who wanted to overthrow the two-bit government met them. The fishermen hated the junta who dished out jobs for family and friends living the high-life, while the poor paid more taxes as the government provided less. Even the fishermen, were forced into minor smuggling to avoid starvation.

  The trip was largely uneventful, although Sophie constantly thought the boat might capsize. They eventually made it to the Florida coastline where the coast guard intercepted them and instantly interned them into an enormous refugee camp. The encampment ran like their old county, gangs of roaming bullyboys demanding money with menaces from their weaker compatriots. Criminals normally put to death in the homeland had escaped and were now claiming political asylum, starting their criminal activities all over again in the adopted country.

  Sophie and her mother processed through the system. Her mother a highly skilled surgeon, had trained in the US, and had been welcomed with open arms. Naturalized, Sophie was absorbed into the local state school. Her sultry latin good looks made her popular with the guys and therefore extremely unpopular with the girls. The in-crowd mimicked her accent, shunned her and called her a wetback. She tried to blend in, pinning her long hair up and wearing unfashionable glasses in the hope of gaining less attention from the boys. She would try and make friends with new kids, but before long she’d tell them her origins and the name calling started and she knew that she’d never be accepted as a ’proper’ American.

  Her attention drew back to the TV where the animated news anchors analyzed the quarantine-zone to death, never having a story like it and never would again. It made her think of Luke again and she smiled. How he’d have loved to be in the thick of it, then she remembered he said he was flying to London. She wondered if he was on one of the recalled airplanes.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell.

  She answered the door and was astonished to see two soldiers dressed in full biological warfare suits.

  11:10 AM

  At President Burgess’s Florida summer compound, doctors fussed over him the moment the broadcast ended. The message to the nation had physically drained him. He slumped back in his chair the second the red-light indicator blinked off the camera he had addressed. He sat at a desk in a mock-up of his office, and the doctor helped him back into bed.

  The doctor checked his pulse and shook his head, “Sir, your blood pressure is off the chart. You must relax.”

  “How the hell can I relax?”

  “At least let me give you a sedative.”

  “I cannot be subdued; I need my wits about me. There is too much to be done.”

  “You must give control to the VP, otherwise I seriously doubt you’ll last the day.”

  “As bad as that?”

  The doctor nodded gravely.

  11:15 PM

  In the Pentagon war room after receiving the most important telephone call of his life, Vice President Hamilton Parker, a proper blue blood from the Boston upper crust slapped his hands together in glee. “President Burgess is incapacitated. Which means as of now, I’m in control. So let’s get things moving with alacrity.” He noticed the dumb-look from General Malloy. “Speed, Jack. Let’s get moving with speed. None of this ‘wait and see’ nonsense. If there’s a problem in Florida I will solve it with a force so strong it’ll make their heads spin.”

  The general thumped the desk making people jump. “That’s more like it! Let’s nuke those wet-back, libera
l faggots to kingdom come.”

  Quinn Martell leaped up. “Now, hang on, one goddamned minute.”

  The Vice President smiled and held up his hands to placate him. “We’re not going to nuke anyone – yet. However, we are going to step this up a few notches. My intel reports are telling me it’s more likely a terrorist attack. And if we’re attacked we’re going to damn well retaliate, fast and furiously.”

  Quinn Martell said. “Mister Vice President, if you would indulge me for one moment,” Hamilton nodded and Quinn continued. “My sources tell me this has all the signs of a viral disease, and it’s vital we properly prepare for this. We need to quarantine the sick, evacuate the -”

  “I’m not about to try and evacuate south Florida. Where would we house tens of millions of evacuees for Christ’s sake?”

  “Hear me out before you decide - this is my area of expertise. Let me tell you about the Spanish influenza pandemic that swept the world in 1918 in places as remote as the Pacific Islands and the Arctic.” Quinn saw he was losing their attention. “During WW1 it was estimated that sixteen million men lost their lives due to the fighting; this flu epidemic in one year alone killed between fifty and one hundred million people worldwide, within months it had killed more people than any other illness in history.” The men sat upright and started to take notice. “More US soldiers died in one transit camp still on American soil than died in battle during WW1. In fact that one influenza outbreak was responsible for more casualties than all the wars of the 20th century put together.” Now he had them, thought Quinn.

  “In that one year the average life expectancy in the USA dropped by twelve years.” He let that fact sink in. “To maintain public morale during those difficult war years the government of the day thought it prudent to censor the dire medical bulletins, which had a disastrous effect, as doctors and health officials could not identify the disease, each assuming they were dealing with a local epidemic not a global pandemic. As attentions were on the war effort no one knew the scale of the outbreak and when the government finally admitted to the havoc and sheer number of deaths the flu had caused, they were unprepared to deal with it – they had left it too late . . . let’s not make the same mistake.”

  The military personnel stared at him in stunned disbelief. Hamilton smiled his reptilian grin, and as smooth as silk said; “I’m sure we’re all indebted to the Surgeon General for the interesting history lesson, but this is not the flu, we won’t be evacuating multi-millions of the population on a hundred year old possibility.”

  “But -” Quinn said.

  “No buts, Quinn. This is a terrorist attack, pure and simple. We’ll deal with it using the might of our military, with retribution on a scale not seen -”

  “Should we not discuss this with NATO,” said Vice Admiral Reed. He smoothed an imaginary crease from his startling white uniform.

  “We’re not attacking a foreign county, this is an American problem on American soil, and for once we can act without -” he made quote marks with his fingers, “‘Let’s open dialog and let’s have a vote’, crap. You know the usual delaying tactics of hostile nations.”

  “Hear hear!” agreed the military leaders sat around the huge mahogany conference table.

  “What are you suggesting, Mister Vice President?” Quinn Martell asked.

  “That we stop pussy-footing around. We’ll go down there and wipe out the threat instantly with whatever it takes, no matter how unpalatable.”

  “Are you suggesting killing Americans?” asked Quinn, fear etched onto his face.

  “You know as well as I do, you shoot a rabid dog.”

  “Yes, but -”

  “It’s the humane thing to do.”

  “Of course, but that’s talking about a dog -”

  “And the virus dies with the host, does it not?”

  The others around the table warmed to this, worrying Quinn Martell deeply, “Well, yes but -”

  “Quinn, may I remind you, that you are here purely as a medical advisor. Kindly leave policy making to me,” the Vice President said nastily, putting Quinn Martell firmly in his place.

  General Malloy backed the VP and jumped in. “The American public would thank us for saving them from this deadly threat.”

  “What about the folk in Florida?” Quinn asked unable to stop voicing his opinion.

  “Well, it’s just too bad.” Hamilton Parker replied. “Do you think the Floridian’s would give a rats-ass if it was happening in Alaska?” the assembled men murmured their agreement. “If you had a gangrenous limb you’d cut it off, simple as that, and, I’m afraid that’s what lower Florida has become. And the outcome won’t change, no matter how long we discuss it, the answer is the same, we need to amputate southern Florida.”

  11:20 PM

  Sophie blinked at the soldiers clad in their camouflaged hazardous material uniforms, confused by their sudden appearance at her door.

  The Sergeant spoke with a metallic sound, the breathing apparatus distorting his voice. “Doctor Garcia? You must come with us.”

  “I think there maybe some mistake.” She said hesitantly.

  “You are, Doctor Sophia Garcia, correct?”

  “Well, yes, but . . .”

  “No mistake, ma’am. “We’ve been sent to escort you to President Burgess’s summer residence.”

  “The President?” she repeated, thinking that she must be in a dream. “Why does he want me?”

  “That information is above my security clearance level, ma’am. My orders are to make sure that you get there safely.”

  Sophie’s stunned, “You are absolutely sure you have the right person?”

  “Affirmative, ma’am. We’ve been instructed to guard you with our lives, because as of now, you’re the most important person in the State.”

  12:30 PM

  On the Boeing 777 flight 416 returning to Miami, Luke helped the fat man to lay comfortably in his chair-bed. He gazed around the cabin, noting that nearly all the business section passenger were showing symptoms of having the Black Death. Sheila Stone, the mature flight attendant, felt out of her depth. “What is going on? What am I meant to do? Too many passengers are sick,” she fretted to Luke.

  He caught the eye of the only other passenger who looked unaffected, an elderly Asian man and went over to him. “How you doing, man?”

  “I’m feeling OK, at the moment. What’s wrong with the other passengers? The flight attendant said it might be a virus, maybe a mild touch of the flu, but it looks worse than that.”

  “Are you a medical man?”

  “Not exactly, I’m a Red Crescent volunteer. It’s like your Red Cross; we go in some of the worst disaster areas in the world. I’ve seen death and disease many times, malaria, diphtheria, scarlet fever, all of these terrifying diseases, but nothing that disables so swiftly. They were all healthy when we boarded the aircraft, but I fear they won’t last the trip.”

  “They won’t,” Luke told him in confidence.

  The Asian leaned forward and whispered. “Do you know what it is?”

  “I understand that it’s a new strain of the Bubonic plague.”

  The Asian man muttered a silent prayer. “How can this be so? Is it a terrorist attack?”

  “Nope.”

  He pondered the information, and then said. “What are we going to do with the corpses? I know one is meant to distance oneself from the corpses?”

  “Not a lot we can do, we’re in mid-air. But you and I appear to be immune. Some people are.”

  “We must offer them aid. It’s the decent thing to do.”

  “There is no aid. All the effected people will die. And it won’t be pleasant.” Luke shrugged, imparting this news.

  “Is there nothing we can do to ease their suffering? We have to watch them die without lifting a finger? That is cruel beyond belief.”

  “Well, I think we’ve got bigger problems.”

  The Asian gulped and looked as if he did not want to hear further bad news, but s
till asked. “What, pray tell?”

  At that moment, a young blonde flight attendant sneezed and was aghast to find that her eyes were bleeding. Luke nodded towards her. “The flight crew, or more importantly, the pilots.”

  13:00 PM

  Sophie sat next to the driver of the army jeep, accompanied by the sergeant in the rear. They drove up the I-95 interstate, traffic-free as each northbound entrance ramp had military roadblocks, whereas the opposite direction a never-ending convoy of military trucks. The Sergeant explained, from his seat in the back. “We’ve directed all the traffic south, all routes north are blocked.” He leaned forward. “We have a pass. You have special dispensation from the President himself, no less,” the sergeant told her, obviously impressed.

  “But why does he want me specifically?” Sophie asked.

  “As I said before, it’s above our security clearance. We have to get you there, whatever it takes.”

  She did not like the way he had said, whatever it takes.

  The driver sneered. “It’s the goddamned rag-heads you mark my words, it’s a chemical attack. A cowardly act of terrorism. Like 9/11, but even more sneaky. A typical camel-jockey trick.” He glanced at Sophie, taking in her dusky, latin looks. “. . . oh, sorry, doctor, no offence.”