Luke entered the stadium under an armed escort where the harsh floodlights burned his eyes. He quickly scanned the arena for an escape, but found it well guarded, he estimated one guard per hundred refugees. They were up makeshift towers, in the stanchions of the flood light towers and evenly placed along the roofline.
“Duuude,” Jake drawled. “Don’t even think about it.” A crack of a rifle shot rang out and a man fell with blood spewing from his forehead and was dead before he hit the ground. Luke wondered what minor crime the man had committed. A sharpshooter on the stadium roof taking credit for the head shot.
Luke was quickly marched passed the body, and allocated a space on the grass, allotted by a towel to indicate his personal space. He was approximately on the centerline and found it ironic to be on the hallowed turf where the Orange Bowl used to be, where his favorite Miami Dolphins once played. A life-long fan, and in his youth he would daydream of playing for the Dolphins at the ‘Bowl’ one day, where a live dolphin would celebrate a touchdown by doing back-flips from its water-tank one end of the arena.
Well, he was here now, he thought somberly and wished the hell he wasn’t. He listened to the tannoy announcements telling them to wait patiently, that food and water would be brought around shortly, that there would be escorted comfort breaks, and that medical staff would pass amongst them in the near future, the announcer thanked them for their co-operation during this difficult time.
Luke listened in disbelief as the internees applauded and whistled as if they were at a rock concert. “Can you believe ‘em?” Luke said. “Didn’t they see the shootings?”
“Dude, people see what they want to see. They’re not going to cry over a couple of spicks being shot.” He slumped, realizing their situation was bleak.
Winnie snorted, “I’ve witnessed this sort of bullying my entire life, the so called liberal-minded citizens looking the other way. It ain’t gonna change now. I also know we’s gotta get out of the stadium, ‘cause in here we’re sitting targets.”
“How?” asked Luke.
“You’re the smart one, slick - figure it out,” she said in a voice that broached no argument.
02:00 AM
General Malloy sat in the communications room at the President’s summer residence, scanning the multi-monitors as they played back the CCTV footage of the previous hour. His eyes flicked from side-to-side, surveying the various flat screens, each one showing a different part of the compound at high speed.
“Permission to speak, sir?” a corporal asked.
“Granted,” General Malloy replied without taking his eyes off the high-speed footage.
“We need to get moving if we’re to stick to our itinerary.”
“No one was in the bathroom, general.”
“I heard something, soldier, I sensed it. I’m like Spiderman, I have this sixth sense, you may scoff but it’s saved my life more than once.”
“But, sir -” He stopped when he heard a commotion from the corridor. The sergeant left at the security gates to find the missing guard detail burst through the door.
“They’re dead, general, all dead!”
“Shot?”
“Not shot, General. It looks like the Black Death.” The words resonated around the communications room. Eventually the sergeant spoke again. “General, shouldn’t we be wearing the hazmat suits to protect ourselves?”
“Negative, son. It’s not the plague we are a good seventy miles north of the danger zone.”
“They were black, sir, and covered in boils.” He trembled, remembering the sight of the bodies.
“It’ll be something else. Trust me, this has all the hallmarks of a terrorist attack, a real subtle attack, misdirecting us into thinking it’s an ancient disease. But we’re too clever for that,” he paused. “Boys, we’ll go down in history for the courageous way we’ve acted.”
“They had the swellings under the arms, the black blood -” the sergeant persisted.
The general rocked on his heels and evaluated this new information. “Then it’s worse than I thought,” he told them. “There must’ve been an advanced hit squad, making it look like the Bubonic Plague has killed everyone at the compound, including the President -”
“The President’s dead!?” the sergeant gasped in amazement.
General Malloy realized that he had slipped up. “Affirmative, son,” he admitted, the soldiers murmured in utter shock at the news. “He was assassinated by terrorists. This is top secret for obvious reasons. That is why it’s imperative we watch these security tapes, we need to discover who committed this atrocity.”
“But the bio-hazards suits sir - the plague?” the sergeant persisted.
“If it is the Bubonic Plague, and that’s a big if, then it’ll already be too late for us,” he said. This caused a ripple of murmuring amongst the troops, then he returned to scanning the screens. “There. Stop the tape. Goddamnit, it’s her!” He pointed at the frozen image of Sophie.
He watched intently as the soldier at the controls, tracked Sophie’s image across the various screens on her journey into the inner sanctum of the President’s compound, right into his bedroom.
“Jesus H. Christ, how did this happen? She’s just waltzed right through each security check! She’s the terrorist from the hospital. We sent her image to every military base and installation, including this one to be on the lookout for her.” He thumped his fist down on the table.
“Spool through the tapes let’s see if we can find her. She can’t have gotten away, she’s -”
The sergeant bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. “Erm, General, I think she may have a vehicle.”
The general did not hear and continued. “We’ll guard all exits and -”
“General,” he said louder. “I think she has transport.”
Jack Malloy fixed him with a steely stare. “Go on?”
“Well, our, erm, our jeep is missing.”
02:30 AM
Even though nearly midnight, the heat inside the stadium was almost unbearable, Luke's clothes stuck to him with sweat. He couldn’t imagine what the heat was like for the soldiers inside their hazmat suits. He hoped it would be torturous, as this would help him with his escape-plan.
A buzz went around the stadium as part of the crowd made an escape bid en masse, and Luke knew the distraction would aid his escape. It was now or never. He nodded to Winnie, and she immediately writhed in agony upon her towel. Jake waved to the nearest guard, who waddled slowly over in his ponderous hazmat suit, who in turn beckoned to another guard.
Luke told them. “She’s turned black in the last hour.”
A look passed between the guards, which Luke expected, as the troops had not changed their routine since they had arrived. The soldiers awkwardly bent over, to heft the woman up, and braced themselves, because of her weight, slipping their rifles over their shoulders, to get a better grip, when Luke and Jake leapt into action and snatched a rifle from each of the startled soldiers.
CHAPTER 18
Outside the stadium Luke struggled within the confines of his stolen hazmat suit, he’d had trouble adjusting to the breathing apparatus initially, and the heat combined with the weight of Winnie, were causing him great difficulty. He staggered as he lugged her weight with Jake’s help. He grunted and groaned as they carried Winnie between them. They made it to the outside where a guard directed them to the back of the circular stadium. Luke could see an orange glow from the rear of the Marlin Park and as he rounded the curve of the stadium he was astounded to see a massive funeral pyre. He was glad he wore the hazmat suit grateful for the breathing apparatus. He could only imagine what the stench of roasting human flesh was like.
He waited while the soldiers in front of him swung their plague victim onto the fiery mound. Much to Luke’s horror the man was still alive, and writhed in agony in the burning flames as his flesh melted upon him. He attempted to crawl from the pyre, but the flames beat him back and he rolled over with a blood-curdling screa
m and died.
The soldiers laughed and mimicked the victim’s limb-flailing, agonized death-throes. Luke hated them instantly. He placed Winnie gently on the ground and Kung Fu kicked one of the giggling soldiers in the back and sent him head-first into the funeral pyre. The soldier flapped and screamed. His colleague rushed to help and rolled him onto the ground to extinguish the flames, which gave Luke, Winnie and Jake a chance to slip away undetected.
Amongst all the chaos and the coming and going of military vehicles, they kept their cool, and strolled from the parking lot to freedom. When they were some distance from the stadium they calculated that they had a better chance of staying free if they were to split up, they said hasty goodbyes and slipped away into the night.
The wash of the rotor blades of a heavy Huey helicopter blew waste paper around Luke. He glanced up and watched as the chopper dropped its cargo into the stadium and almost immediately heard the screams of the refugees and noticed the yellow vapor cloud emerge from the arena.
He tried to tune out the wails of the dying, “Gas. . .” he muttered to himself. “The final solution.”
03:00 AM
Sophie headed southward on the I-95 in the stolen army jeep, passing swiftly through Boca Raton, and Pompano Beach, back the way she had come assuming her pursuers would automatically have expected her to flee northwards away from the danger. Her journey was unhindered, but she knew she would not be able to get past the roadblock. She tried to think ahead, and thought of the jeep’s 4 X 4 all terrain driving ability and thought it better to journey around the unmade roads through the northern end of the Seminole’s reservation.
She turned off the freeway and doused her lights, slowing the engine and using moonlight to guide her on the surface streets, until she found the northern entrance to the Native-American reservation. She switched on her sidelights giving her some illumination, until she felt far enough away from the freeway and screened by the thickening forest, for a random army patrol to spot her, where she reverted to main beam.
The further she drove into the forest the more potholes she hit, and although the jeep could take them, she had to slow considerably. The jeep bounced over the compacted ruts. The lack of rain and the present heat wave had concentrated the mud into hard, uneven ridges. She navigated the dirt roads, little more than tracks, hardly ever used by the Seminole, but once shown to her by a tribal leader, when out there on her monthly visit. She remembered the pleasant tour around the extremities of the reservation. She thought it most beautiful, left in its natural state the way it had been for a hundred years. Not like the consumer park, designated for the tourists, who would flock in their droves to the ‘show’ reservation to buy trinkets, such as tomahawks, tribal headdresses and mini totem poles. The tourists watched the re-enactments of the Native American way of life, and of course the number one attraction, an ‘Indian Brave’ wrestling with an alligator. Although frowned upon lately as cruel to the gator, even if it was only a baby, well cared for, and practically a pet, they always over-fed it before a show to make sure it would be catatonic.
These days the tourists demanded more than the Disney version of the Native-American way of life. The reservation moved with the times, and due to a quirk in the law, was able to offer bingo, and even a full-blown casino for the more adventurous. She entered the main arena and recalled seeing the dead and dying sprawled around. When was that? Had it only been yesterday? She thought back to the bodies littered about like the aftermath of a nuclear war, with buzzards pecking at their fleshy parts, the eyes evidently a distinct favorite.
She shuddered inwardly, and tried to concentrate on looking for the track out of the encampment onto interstate 75. She drove from the arena and back onto another dirt road, through the over-hanging mangrove trees. She counted on the military patrols to be checking the northbound streets. She skirted around the deep bear-pit and continued southward, changed down a gear and popped out onto the interstate 75, which ran east to west.
She felt home free, she’d stick to the surface roads and back streets, and would be home in her condominium within twenty minutes. She sighed with relief, when all of a sudden she was lit up from behind by a fast approaching military vehicle.
The High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (HMMWV) commonly known as the Humvee rapidly gained ground. The driver aimed at her, trying to ram her from the freeway. Quick as a flash, she spun a 180 degree-turn, leaving a circle of rubber on the road surface, thinking her best bet was back into the reservation, hoping her superior knowledge of the dirt roads would give her the edge in her bid to lose them.
The Humvee shot past, the soldier operating the roof-mounted M2 heavy machine-gun gawped in amazement. She used the four-wheel drive facility and drove down into a drainage ditch beside the freeway, while the slower Humvee turned around to give chase. She neared the dirt road she’d emerged from earlier, and drove up the embankment and bunny-hopped back onto the track into the reservation.
“There she is!” shouted the machine-gunner. The Humvee accelerated gaining ground. Sophie hurled the jeep around a sharp right on the dirt track, spitting up a cloud of dust. The lights of the Humvee locked upon her; the vehicle aimed at the turning, but the driver misjudged the vehicles maneuverability and crashed into a mighty tree trunk. The crash rattled the occupants of the vehicle, but did little damage to the armor–plated machine, although it wrecked the cypress tree.
Sophie slowed and turned off her lights using the moonlight to guide her, she saw the familiar curve in the dirt track. The machine gunner had her in his sights but as he bounced on the uneven dirt road, he lost his grip on the machine-gun, he lined up the M2 once more. He had to duck quickly before he was hit in the face by an overhanging branch, and then a slow bend in the track made it impossible for him to fire.
She stopped, waiting for the military vehicle to catch up. Sure enough, the Humvee rushed towards her at top speed and at the last second she drove off the track, between two study trees, knowing that the Humvee would not be able to follow.
The dumbfounded driver watched her disappearing through the trees to his left, he decelerated, but not quickly enough, because when he looked forward he was heading towards a steep curve in the road ahead. He braked for all his worth, but the wheels locked unable to gain purchase on the dirt, it shot into the curve, crunching into the bank of earth and teetered on the edge of the deep bear-pit. The driver held his breath, as if that would have any effect, but the momentum of his approach made the six thousand pounds of armor-plated vehicle drop into the depths.
Sophie shook her head at the ease in which she’d tricked her pursuers into the bear-pit. She made her way home without incident.
As she edged closer to the city she could see tracer bullets lighting up the night sky as if she was in Beirut or some such place. What was going on? She thought it prudent not to park the army jeep outside her condominium, and dumped it a street away. She trotted the last hundred yards, yet the humidity, even at that time of night sapped her strength. When she entered her street she saw an army patrol vehicle parked outside her condo.
She ran through the list of the other occupants of the building and could not think of anyone else that the military might have an interest in. Plus, it was all too much of a coincidence, her being an eyewitness to the assassination of the President of the United States. She’d tried to phone Quinn Martell, but her cell-phone service was down. She’d stopped at a payphone but that didn’t work either. She’d try her email when she got home, but doubted that would work. She assumed that it was part of the overall plan to stop communication leaking out of Florida.
She stealthily crept through the trees and bushes on the opposite side of the street, which lined one of the multitude of canals that crisscrossed Florida, she took her time, slowly approaching her building and crouched behind tall sea-grass, hiding behind the thick foliage, hoping to pick up bits of conversation. The soldiers were lazy and only focused on her front door, with the occasional cursory glance
up and down the street. She had passed on the other side of the street completely unnoticed. She decided she’d better go elsewhere and slowly stood when a hand clamped across her mouth . . . .
CHAPTER 19
03.30 AM
General Malloy called a meeting of the Chiefs of Staff. He addressed them from the President’s summer retreat using the video-link. They were at the War Room, with Quinn Martell there to make sense of the medical information over-load, landing on their desks and translate it into a form of English they would understand.
When they had taken their seats General Malloy cleared his throat and said; “Gentlemen it is my sad duty to inform you that President Burgess died at approximately 0200 hours this morning.” The Chiefs’ of Staff were astounded by the news and the abrupt manner in which it was delivered. “Vice President Parker is being sworn in as we speak, and he has given me the authority to do what I must, however unpalatable it may be, to sort out the Florida problem.”
Hamilton Parker kept his ear tuned to the General’s speech to the Chiefs of Staff via video-link while being sworn in as the next President of the United States of America. He and the general had worked out a strategy earlier and realized they needed the co-operation of the other armed forces, knowing some, by their inherent weak nature would object, yet he had confidence in General Malloy to lay out the plan and persuade them.
He could hardly contain his joy and sat in the sumptuous leather chair behind the expansive desk in the Oval Office. He regarded the briefcase upon it. The briefcase that could launch a nuclear war, little more than a laptop these days and he was awe-struck to think of the doomsday destruction the slim case held. He’d had one quick lesson in how to find the launch codes and activate them. He had a boy-like fascination with it, like being told not to touch wet paint, he had an overwhelming desire to open it, press a button and unleash hell! He managed to resist the urge knowing it was only for a retaliatory nuclear strike or even an offensive strike if it came to it. He might need the weapons sooner rather than later, he thought ominously.
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