“What do you mean?” she inquired sharply.
“I wasn’t thinking,” he apologized, circling his face and pointing at her.
“You think I’m Middle Eastern?”
“Your skin color, y’know?”
Skin color again? The soldier had seen her sallow skin coloring and thought her the enemy. She felt her temperature rising along with her temper. “This disease does not discriminate over skin color. Or cast or creed for that matter. It will kill without mercy, the rich, poor, black or white, it does not care, and it will mow down everything in its path. And for your information I’m Latin-American.”
The driver sneered under his breath. “American, yeah, sure, right.”
The Sergeant leaned forward; “I apologize for my colleague’s offensive remarks. He’s claustrophobic. The helmet’s giving him the heebie-jeebies. Making him irrational and speaking without thinking.”
The jeep lurched across the lanes as the driver sneezed three times rapidly in succession. The driver fought for control of the vehicle as he fishtailed down the interstate. Sophie held on tight as the driver swerved onto the shoulder spewing up gravel, he managed to straighten the jeep, when he sneezed violently and once again lost control. He yanked the steering wheel one way, over corrected, and then yanked it the other. Finally, he braked and squealed to a halt. He convulsed once more and sneezed painfully.
“Goddamn it! Aw, Christ. Look at the inside of my helmet; it’s covered in snot.”
Sophie turned to see the plastic visor splattered with thousands upon thousands of droplets of the deadly bacteria as the soldier had sneezed without the ability to cover his nose.
She froze in alarm when the driver started to remove his helmet. “Whatever you do, do not remove that helmet,” she said firmly.
The sergeant whacked him on the back of his helmet, “Leave your helmet on, soldier. That’s an order, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Sergeant.” He put the jeep in gear and continued forward. He maneuvered his head to see through the mucus on the inside of his helmet. “This is so gross,” he moaned as the fluid ran down the inside of the visor obscuring his vision.
The jeep picked up speed and hurtled along the I-95 at a fair clip; the sergeant leaned forward again and spoke quietly to Sophie. “We were told sneezing is one of the first signs of the . . . you know,” he paused trying to think how to word his next question. “I don’t suppose that his sneezing could be connected to the -” he could not finish the sentence as the driver turned and glared at him.
“No,” Sophie replied and smiled at the driver reassuringly. “As long as he has kept his helmet on.”
The driver's face dropped and his eyes swiveled from side to side. He acted in an agitated manner, which the Sergeant noticed. “You have kept your helmet on, solider?”
“Yes, sergeant. Well, except from when we took a leak at the rest stop. I quickly phoned my honey, but it was no more than a minute tops, sergeant. I had to take the helmet off to hear her.”
He clouted him on top of the head. “You idiot.”
14:00 PM
Sheila Stone, the chief flight attendant dabbed her bloody nose with tissue paper, she felt nauseous and had to hold on to the seats while she made her way to business section. In all her years of flying, she had seen nothing like this, she and her staff were totally unprepared. She knew that flying for a living had its fair share of dangers. She had trained against high-jacking or kidnapping, and even hand-to-hand combat, in the event of an attack by passengers. But in the small hours of the night she’d wonder about air-crashes, she’d be a liar if she didn’t dwell on the prospect once in a while, as each air mile she flew brought her statistically closer, however miniscule the chance, to the possibility of dying in a crash.
She’d had narrow escapes, she’d been in an airplane that had been struck by lightning. It had lost power and had to glide to the nearest landing strip, and made the unlikely safe landing only because of the pure skill of the pilot. Another time she’d experienced wind shear, a phenomena still not fully explained by science, but once experienced never forgotten, a situation where the airplane dropped out of the sky like a stone. Her drinks cart had stuck to the ceiling as they plummeted downwards at speed, along with the passenger’s cups and glasses, and then, when the pilot had controlled the situation, what goes up must come down, and the passengers had been covered with the contents of their drinks and she was struck a glancing blow by the falling drinks cart.
Her nightmares were becoming more frequent and always featured crashes, she would wake in the night in a cold sweat with the sheets clinging to her. She blamed her lack of faith in the inexperienced pilots, who seemed to be getting younger and younger, each year, as the airlines lowered their standards on each new batch of recently qualified pilots. No doubt to get cheaper, and often foreign pilots. Stop kidding yourself Sheila she scolded, it’s YOU getting older, but it did seem like the pilots were considerably younger.
When she had first started the captains’, co-pilots’, and flight engineers, they even had flight engineers navigating back then, had been rock-solid older men, with years of US air-force experience behind them. They were reliable and self-assured, they commanded respect and she knew she was in safe hands. Now with the competition in the industry and the ever changing bottom line, the companies had to chase the all-elusive dollar that much harder, which equated to a slip in standards - and in safety, if she was honest with herself. She saw the standards cut everywhere she looked, in the quality of the material in her uniform, through to the quality of the food they served, even now offering a no-food option, who’d have thought that would ever happen. She knew that the airline bought the cheapest replacement parts and the check-up intervals were less frequent and not as stringent. However, she never thought they’d scrimp on the quality of the pilots, although she’d been told time and time again that anyone could fly a plane these days, that computers guided the craft, that they could ‘fly by wire’, even land themselves. She was all for progress, but when it came to flying, or more precisely landing, she still preferred a pilot with years of experience under his or her, and there were some hers’, belt, rather than these two snot-nosed kids piloting today. One of them she’d heard, had his rich daddy to fund his training at pilot-school as he’d failed to make the grade, and did not have the inclination to join the air force and train in the usual fashion. That’s just great, she thought, when she saw the flight crew early that morning boarding the aircraft, just what I need, a high school dropout sat in the left hand seat.
Still, she reflected, none of that mattered now, it looked as if her days were numbered anyway and in a manner she could never of imagined in her wildest dreams. She dabbed her bloody nose on a napkin and approached Luke and the Asian man. “Gentlemen, would you mind following me?”
Luke followed apprehensively up the spiral staircase, through the first class lounge to the flight deck. She opened the door to the cockpit. He entered with trepidation and sure enough, both pilots were dead.
15:00 PM
Sophie eyed the driver nervously, he didn’t look good. She could see that his eyes were watering and blurring his vision, as he was unable to wipe them. He’d said that he only took his helmet off for a few moments, but she knew of course, that’s all it took to be exposed to the bacteria. It also meant the virus was further north than she had hoped. The soldier said he had made a call, while at a rest stop on his way down the I-95 to collect her. She knew the place, an ugly, brutal looking building, utilitarian, with no redeeming features, but functional, with the services you would expect. But now all those travelers would have been in touch with the airborne virus. She’d have to let the surgeon general know as soon as possible so he could revise his plan and extend the exclusion zone. Although, she privately thought it may already be too late.
The driver sneezed again, and swung hard on the wheel, Sophie screamed, and almost tipped from the motoring vehicle. He braked harshly, leaped from the jeep, and ripped off
his annoying helmet.
“No, don’t!” she shouted, then stared in amazement as she realized that his face had taken on a black hue, mainly on the tip of his nose and ears. “Put the helmet back on,” Sophie said in an even tone.
“I think it’s goddamn obvious that it’s too late for me, don’tcha think?”
“It’s not for your safety it’s for the others. You are spreading the disease around.”
“Put it back on, that’s an order,” snapped the sergeant.
“No point wearing it now, I’m gonna die, and that’s a fact,” he replied.
“Calm down, soldier, we’ll get you attention,” the sergeant said. Yet the soldier stubbornly ignored his superior, enraging him further. “Put your helmet back on, or I’ll put you on a charge.”
The soldier sneered, “I’m dying. Do your worst.”
“That’s it, I’m writing you up. You’re on a charge, disobeying orders, get in the back of the jeep, I’m driving the rest of the way.” He hopped into the driver-seat and fired the engine, Sophie scrambled back into the front passenger seat. The soldier crouched down and vomited a thick, black, foul-smelling discharge.
He reeled back on his heels, and looked at Sophie pleadingly. “Help me . . . please.”
“Get in the jeep. We must get to the compound,” the sergeant told him.
“There’s nothing you can do for me. We were told that in orientation.” He wiped the black-colored blood from his nostrils. Sophie noticed his skin getting darker. She calculated that he would not make it as far as the compound.
The sergeant turned to the soldier. “Get in the jeep, soldier. Do not disobey me again.”
“Fuck you, Serge. I’m staying here.”
“Negative, soldier. You’ll infect anyone you come into contact with.”
The solider stood and stared out his superior challengingly. “So what? I don’t give a flying fuck about them.” He glared, then turned on his heels and walked in the opposite direction.
“I can’t let you do it, soldier, do not disobey me. Come back, halt or I will shoot.”
Sophie stared in disbelief as the sergeant raised his rifle and she yelled. “What are you doing?” She moved into his line-of-sight stopping him in his tracks.
“I’m following my orders, doctor. Stand aside.” He re-aimed, and shot.
Sophie starred open-mouthed as the bullet hit between the soldier’s shoulder blades; and exited his rib cage in a plume of blackish blood. She watched in horror, as the driver dropped to his knees, turned and caught her eye, blood bubbled from his mouth, his eyed registered total surprise. He tried to stand, wobbled, then flopped face first into the dirt.
CHAPTER 9
She steeled herself and tried to match the sergeant’s defiant glare. “I’ll report you for murder, when we reach the compound,” she declared, feeling her
self tremble with rage as she spoke.
“I followed orders, ma’am, nothing more, nothing less,” he said matter-of-factly.
“What orders?” she asked.
“For your information southern Florida is under martial law, and I have the authority to shoot on sight if I deem it necessary.”
“Oh yeah, sure, since when?” she scoffed.
He checked his wristwatch. “Since about thirty minutes ago.” He smiled mockingly, watching her face drop, taking in the information. “Now,” he said, indicating the vehicle, “Get back in the fucking jeep . . . ma’am.”
15.30 PM
General Malloy prowled the war room deep in the heart of the Pentagon. At last, finally the moment he’d been waiting his entire life for - martial law. Now, he’d be able to get the American people under control. To make the country great again, like it had been when he was a boy.
He remembered growing up in Alabama, and how his chest used to burst with pride when his parents acquired some new toy, be it a brand new Cadillac, boat, or camper van, flaunting their wealth and living the American dream. He and his elder brother, who he utterly adored, wanted for nothing. They regularly had new clothes, no hand-me-downs for Jack or his brother. They were always turned out smartly, kept their hair short and tidy, and had the latest must-have toys. Same with the other kids in the neighborhood, they had played in little league baseball and any sport they could discover.
Then desegregation was pushed through by the numb-nuts in Washington, where the lily-livered liberals forced their Northern standards upon them, what did they know? The South had gotten along for several centuries doing things their own way. They had stood up to them, until they sent in the National Guard to safeguard passage for the black kids to attend his school. He could remember even as an infant in the 1960s as the first black faces entered the school. Then as predicted, not so long after that they moved into the neighborhood and then the rot set in, first the graffiti, then stolen cars, and then burglaries.
Fifty plus years later and he still felt the slow toxic drip of the mixing of the races, which he thought patently obvious, would not work. It would weaken American blood and the American race. He’d noticed over the years that each new in-take of raw recruits were inferior to the last, as the American gene pool mixed and diluted.
Since then, there had been feminism and worse, far worse, as part of some mad, touchy-feely population experiment, they had even had a black President. Jesus H. Christ. A black President! Truly, the pinnacle of everything that was wrong with the once great country.
His pappy had never been the same since his elder brother died in Vietnam, one of the last, while they were evacuating from the American embassy. His father had collapsed and never fully recovered, falling into a gradual and irreversible decline. Young Jack had been mortified to hear of his brother’s death in Vietnam, the very day he was due back home. To die was bad enough, but for his brother to die on the last day of the conflict, was too cruel for them to suffer as a family.
Jack had signed up to join the same regiment as soon as he was able and had taken to the military life like a duck to water. He loved the discipline, the smartness, the order of life. He needed the rules and regulations to live by and rocketed up through the ranks to his current position, a four star general. He used every ounce of his forceful nature to make the Joint Chiefs of Staff quake in their boots and as he prowled around the enormous mahogany conference table in the war room, he had the floor and he had their attention.
Most were riveted, listening to his innovative plans and applauded his no nonsense approach to the impending disaster, his declaring of martial law and more importantly passing a law that plague carriers and objectors disobeying the military’s commands would be shot. No argument, no discussions, they would be shot dead and that’s the end of it. The Vice President had given him complete freedom to solve the Florida problem.
General Malloy couldn’t bring himself to utter the words, the Black Death, or Bubonic Plague. It was too archaic, to have the power to bring Florida to its knees. It had to be a hi-tech virus, man-made in a laboratory, just as he knew there would be an enemy foreign power behind the attack, and he was going to make them pay for that. He smiled to himself; he had recently received information that they had a lead in that direction.
“Finally,” he said to the expectant crowd of military men and women. “We have information about the suspected terrorists. They were seen escaping the island on a Jet Ski. These terrorists obviously have an antidote as they walked freely amongst the dying. It also appears they harpooned a man in their escape to freedom.” He waited for the information to sink in. He had their attention and he loved it. “A naval vessel tracked them, however the fugitives gave them the slip, but they are still in the exclusion zone and rest assured that we will track them down like the animals they clearly are. As of now they are public enemy number one.”
“Do we know who they are, General Malloy?”
“There is a woman of foreign appearance, possibly middle-eastern and she’s accompanied by a Caucasian man. We’ve managed to pull off some images from the hosp
ital CCTV which seems to be the epicenter of the chemical attack.”
“Can we see them?”
“We’ve had the images beefed up and if you watch those screens these are the faces that are being beamed live to our troops in Florida to assist in there capture.” Slowly from the top of the screen, a series of lines whizzed across the screen until there were two grainy photographic images of Sophie, and Luke.
CHAPTER 10
21:15 PM
Luke sat in the left hand seat, the pilot’s seat, in the cockpit of the Boeing 777, flight 416 returning to Miami. The aircraft flew on automatic pilot on a heading back to Miami International. The enormous craft’s computers in theory could land the airplane. Luke doubted that the American public were ready for that innovation yet, they like he, needed the reassuring announcements of a calm, authoritative captain, and they would happily put they lives in his hands and not think about it again for a few hours until they were safely back on terra firma. He could not imagine many folk brave enough to fly on a pilotless airplane flown by computers, although the military had used pilotless spy-planes and drones for years, on a lesser scale but the same principle. No, Luke knew his major problem would be on the final approach and he would need to start preparing shortly.
Sheila Stone the chief flight attendant sat in the co-pilot’s seat, and murmured encouragement, although Luke could tell that she was rapidly succumbing to the virus. The Asian man sat strapped into the rumble seat behind him.
“You can do this, Luke,” she said. “I have faith in you,” Sheila encouraged.
“Yeah I’ll give it a go,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “How hard can it be?”
Sheila chuckled, which caused her to spit up a mouthful of blood.
“We’ll land in Moscow within the hour.”
“Moscow!” the Asian man said in alarm.
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