The Doomsday Infection

by Lamport, Martin

  He clambered out of the truck, and spoke to his second in command, Major Harris. “I knew it was a mistake to let the goddamned navy run the show. We have one on the most expensive ships ever built moored off the coast of Miami, armed with the most sophisticated equipment ever assembled to detect any foreign enemy, flying, sailing the ocean, or even under it, down to the size of a square yard, and these clowns sailed in right under our noses. Tell me, how in the name of God did that happen?”

  “That’s Swabbies for you, sir. I would not trust them an inch.”

  “When did we last report in?”

  “Don’t know, sir.”

  The general turned and beckoned over the signalman, easy to spot due to the backpack he wore, complete with a telltale antenna protruding from the top of the radio communications pack. “You! When did you last have contact with the Thomas Jefferson?”

  “I’ve not been able to get through, General.”

  “And when were you going to tell me this piece of information?”

  “It did not seem important, sir, it’s routine after all, and well, you know the radio is temperamental to say the least,” he stated, the poorly-made equipment in the field, a constant everyday complaint of a modern infantryman. It was a well known fact that tenders put out to the lowest bidder, even after all the back-hands that oiled commerce, had been taken into account meant that the equipment would be inferior and sub-standard, an issue that General Malloy had raised with congress on more than one occasion himself.

  “Goddamnit,” he said flatly. “Try again, we gotta tell those navy sonsofbitches, that their multi-billion dollar warship failed to stop a boatload of wet-backs.” He shook his head in shame. “My God, can you imagine what would have happened if they had been the enemy? Not some spics chancing their luck. How many more have gotten in? What if enemy operatives have slipped through the net? Jesus H. Christ. The shit will hit the fan when the Pentagon hears of this. The Thomas Jefferson’s one role is to protect our borders. I’ll see to it that Captain Phillips is demoted and ends his days swabbing the decks,” General Malloy sighed. “You know this means we’re going to have to double the patrols.”

  “We’re at capacity already, General.”

  “We need to find the men from somewhere, Major. We thought we had swept through the district and eliminated the plague-carriers, and now there’s a new influx of soon-to-be carriers, it’s a never-ending tide of human filth trying to enter our country. Why in God’s name would they be so desperate to enter the country that they’re prepared to succumb to the Bubonic Plague? It’s not as if we haven’t warned the world of the disease. They know it’s fatal. Why are they so dumb?”

  The signalman returned shaking his head. “I’ve tried everything to communicate with the ship. It’s as if it’s completely disappeared, sir.”

  “Dismissed,” he said. The signalman snapped a salute and left. The Major turned to General Malloy. “There was an explosion, earlier today, you don’t think . . .?

  They said there’d been an accident. That a helicopter had crashed. But that wouldn’t have much effect on a six hundred ton vessel.”

  Major Harris’s brow creased deep in thought. “Permission to speak candidly, sir?” he asked.

  “Granted.”

  “It strikes me, General, that we’re fighting a losing battle. If our ships cannot protect our shoreline from one simple boatload of illegal immigrants, and word gets out, we are going to be swamped with them; we won’t be able to cope. And it’ll only take one infected person to break through the cordon for the contagion to spread through the rest of the country and then . . .” He waved his arms around. “We’ll have this chaos times a hundred, a thousand.” He paused as the general glowered at him. He gulped, then continued. “You know I’m right. You must have thought it yourself, we can’t be sure that we’ll kill every last citizen, without a tidal wave of wetbacks pouring ashore. If one of them gets word back home -”

  “Then make sure word doesn’t get out,” he snapped.

  The major nodded his understanding, turned and rapidly gave an order to the troops.

  General Malloy knew the major had spoken the truth, it was no longer possible to rid southern Florida of its population, if every time they dispatched one wetback another ten illegal immigrants would be happy to take their place. What was wrong with them, he wondered? The worst pestilence that the world had ever known ravaged the state of Florida and still the wetbacks wanted to enter the country. It wasn’t workable, and if they couldn’t rely on the navy to do their part and patrol the sea, how was he and his meager supply of men meant to safeguard the vast landmass of Florida? It was out of control and he was not afraid to admit it.

  He snapped his fingers at the signalman. “Get me the Pentagon.”

  “General?” said the major to get his attention. “We’re ready?” He nodded as the hazmat suited men alighted from the truck and pointed their rifles inwards.

  “Carry on,” the General said flatly. He took the radio from the signalman and while he spoke to the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the pentagon, gunfire lit up the night sky, the blasts of the gunfire and the screams of the dying filling the air. The General told them of their latest discovery and stood grim faced while he heard the news of the USS Thomas Jefferson.

  A soldier armed with a flame-thrower lit up the truck from a safe distance, until it exploded. General Malloy ducked slightly and put a finger in his ear, trying to hear what Colonel Simpson suggested, then his face cracked into a smile as he was reinstated as the Commander of the tri-services in the exclusion zone.

  23:31 PM

  Luke found the going tough, as if hobbling on his makeshift crutch was not bad enough as Sophie led the way from the canal, the inky black darkness hampered Luke further. He only had one flimsy flashlight beam to guide them both. They had been travelling some time as Sophie led them further into the forest, through the indigenous mangrove and cypress trees, which gave Luke the impression of a jungle. They had agreed that this was their best plan of action, as the troop-patrols were going to be mainly on the streets and the odd flyby. Sophie had suggested that they get to the Everglades and use the vastness of the swamps to lose themselves from the enemy, and with the aid of connecting rivers travel north to Lake Ockeekee and freedom.

  Luke stumbled, and fell to the dirt. Sophie helped him to stand. “Come on, you’re doing fine, it’s only a little further. The boat-house should be near,” she smiled brightly at him, trying to cheer him. Being back to nature filled her with bliss. The Everglades always did. She loved the wide-open spaces, the sheer hugeness of the water made her feel peaceful. She liked to get to the Everglades whenever she had the time. She would travel on one of the ubiquitous airboats to penetrate deep into the sub-tropical swamp. She found it cleansing to be back to nature, away from the hot, sweaty city of Miami and its hoards of people all crammed in together.

  She hoped that Luke would feel the same, although she doubted it, he seemed to be a city boy through and through. She tripped on a log, and pointed out the hazard to Luke. She found herself daydreaming about the two of them returning together to the Everglades when this epidemic was over and taking an airboat out, even maybe go camping. “I can hear water and if my navigation is correct we should see the boathouse and the Everglades.”

  “Everglades,” he groaned. “Home of the alligator.”

  “They stay in the water, away from humans, usually.”

  “Usually?” he said with a sarcastic edge to his voice.

  “Did you know that the Everglade also has crocodiles?” she asked pushing branches of cypress tree from her face.

  “No I didn’t.”

  “And bears, and panthers.”

  “Just my luck.”

  “Don’t be such a girl,” she teased. “They’ll be more frightened of you, than you are of them.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” he mumbled to himself. “As long as we don’t come across any snakes, I’ll be -”

  “Oh.”
>
  “Oh, what do you mean, ‘oh’?”

  “Erm, nothing. Look, we’re here,” she pointed to the enormity of the Everglades, all two million acres of it, but in the darkness it was too difficult to judge the scale of its vastness.

  They entered the boathouse and Sophie shone the flashlight around the interior. “I suggest I take another look at your leg, it is going to need to rest.”

  23:32 PM

  “Well, Gentlemen,” Colonel ‘Homer’ Simpson said wearily, and locked eyes with each and every person around the mahogany conference table in the pentagon war room. “I think it’s time; on the strength of what we have learned from General Malloy.”

  The chiefs of staff muttered in disbelief then fell silent. Colonel Simpson let the implication sink in for the longest moment, still unable to believe what he proposed himself. “What with the unimaginable sinking of the USS Thomas Jefferson and the influx of illegal’s willing to risk their lives, I think it’s our only course of action. What say you?”

  “Dear God,” said the Brigadier-General from the air force, “it’s inconceivable.”

  “It’s out of our hands. We have to act and swiftly.”

  “I can’t believe we’re considering the ridiculous proposition from that wet behind the ears Harvard boy.”

  “I heard that,” cut in President Parker and his face filled their monitors. His face was startling, having taken on an orange hue.

  Colonel Simpson leaned over to the Brigadier General, and whispered behind his hand. “Is he wearing make-up?”

  The other man nodded, and shrugged in confusion.

  President Hamilton appeared distracted, then remembered the men watching him on the monitor and turned his attention to them. “I’m glad that you have come around to my way of thinking, I’ve been listening to you debating all night, tip-toeing around the issue, but you know I’m right.”

  “It’s monstrous,” fumed the Brigadier-General. “I won’t be associated with such a vile scheme. You must all be out of your minds.”

  “Fine,” said Hamilton Parker. “You’re dismissed.”

  “But – but . . .” stammered the Brigadier-General in protest.

  “I said you’re free to go,” said the President. The brigadier general’s face colored red and with as much dignity as he could muster, he gathered his belongings and marched from the war room followed by his group of advisors. “Now, I take it that there are no other dissenters?” the President waited for a moment. “Good then we will initiate plan Z.”

  “Plan Z?” repeated Colonel Simpson.

  “That’s what I’ve named it. This plan of action needed a grandiose name. We’re facing the Doomsday Infection; plan Z has a sort of Doomsday feel. After all we will go down in history as the guys with the balls to take the decision -”

  “We?” queried the colonel.

  “Me then,” the President said, he turned to Vice-Admiral Reed, and Quinn Martell sat together on a couch, under gunpoint of armed guards. He smiled winningly at them. He turned to gaze from the Oval Office window; the majesty of the Washington skyline always amazed him and he knew that he was doing the right thing. “I’m the XO and ultimately responsible for making this game-changing decision, but I’d prefer your blessing, and that it’d go down on record as being a joint decision.” He waited for the hubbub to end, giving them time to digest the enormity of their strategy. “Plan Z is going to happen,” he told them. “With or without your approval. I thought, that, years from now, you could be there, on record, as part of the team that changed the face of this country,” he threw his hands in the air. “Your call.”

  There was more frantic chattering and gesturing amongst the various factions. The Colonel tapped the mahogany tabletop to get their attention. “I think it only right that we should vote upon it, after all, as the President said the time for procrastination is over, we need to act promptly. Gentlemen,” he paused given the gravity of the situation. “Let’s take our place in history. On the proposal of the President’s Plan Z, what say you?” He nodded to the man to his left.

  “Aye.” The man said resigned to the fact.

  “Admiral?” he asked next.

  The admiral thought some more, then gave in, “Aye.”

  “General Air Force Chief of Staff?” he asked giving everyone his or her proper title as the conversation would go on the permanent record.

  He paused, and pondered the notion milking the moment and making sure that it would be duly noted in the future that he had given the proposition his utmost attention, then said, “Aye.”

  On the video-link monitors, the President’s smile grew and grew as each person concurred.

  “Let’s initiate Plan Z, and we’ll go to Defcon One.

  CHAPTER 45

  23:33 PM

  The sweltering, balmy Florida night sapped the strength of the military troops stumbling along the canal bank. “This was the last known position, General,” said Major Harris.

  General Malloy asked, “How many men were there?”

  “Two. National guardsmen on a routine patrol.”

  “How long have they been missing?”

  “They were due to report in over two hours ago. It might be nothing. They may have deserted.”

  The General rubbed his hand over his chin. He needed a shave. He had not slept since . . . he could not remember, but it had to be at least two days. “I won’t have that sort of talk. Even if they were in the National Guard. We need to find them. They might be in trouble.”

  They traipsed under a bridge, “What’s that?” asked the general pointing up ahead.

  The major squinted in the gloom. “It looks like a dead horse.”

  They slowed and approached the horse and barge cautiously. The men spread out; two climbed onboard the barge.

  “Here’s one of them, General,” said a corporal, and pointed to the corpse of the skinny national guardsman on deck, he had to hold his nose to stop himself gagging.

  “Any sign of the other one?” General Malloy asked.

  A private came up from below decks, “All clear, no one down below, General.”

  “How come they’d removed their hazmat suits. A look passed between the lower ranks. The General noticed and signaled with his fingers. “Out with it.”

  The major appeared bashful. “Well, I don’t know quite how to explain this, but, erm, we’ve been getting reports of the soldiers getting, erm, frisky, shall we say, and may have, erm, interfered with the civilians.”

  “Word is they think of it as a perk of the job,” said the corporal helpfully.

  “A ‘perk’?” General Malloy said looking heavenward. “Are they trying to re-populate Florida single-handedly?”

  The major tried to silence the corporal, when something caught his eye, he turned and saw what he thought looked like an arm. A half digested arm. “I think that’s what’s left of his companion.”

  General Malloy took in the scene and his lips tightened into a grimace before he spoke, “It’s them. I know it.”

  “Who, sir?” the major asked.

  “The terrorists,” said the General taking in the major’s baffled look. “Who else could overcome two armed soldiers?”

  “There’s blood up here, sir,” said the corporal. “Not from the corpse, I mean. I think one of them is injured, quite badly.”

  General Malloy allowed himself a smile, he sniffed the air and the hunt was on.

  “Pentagon,” said the signalman, passing over the radio handset to him.

  “General Malloy,” he said and found himself talking to Colonel Simpson, “Evening Homer, what can I do for you?”

  “You’re to evacuate immediately. Transport is ready. We’re sending a Blackhawk to fetch you, right now.”

  “What about my men?” he asked quietly, not wishing to alarm them. He assumed they would not be included in the airlift and would be left in Florida to fend for themselves.

  “Frankly Jack, we do not have the time or the resources, we’re s
tarting with key personnel and working downwards. We have your co-ordinates, and the chopper will land on the nearest bridge.”

  The General saw the broken foliage nearby and could detect the route the terrorists had taken. “Affirmative. But I have some personal business to clear up here first.” He glanced at the path his quarry had taken and his nostrils flared as if he could smell them.

  “Don’t hang around, General. We need you evacuated within the hour, please confirm?”

  “Acknowledged, over and out,” he said cutting off the colonel before any further protest. He turned to the major. “A chopper should be arriving for me shortly. It’ll land on the bridge. Take the men and guard it with your lives.”

  Yes, sir,” replied the major automatically. “Where will you be?”

  He nodded into the jungle-like forest. “I’ve got a little matter to attend to first.”

  “You’re going to go after the terrorists?”

  “You betcha!”

  “Why you? Shouldn’t we send the men?”

  “It’s personal, son.” He eyeballed the major, who knew when to stop arguing. “Look at the trail they’ve left. They’ve not attempted to cover their path. A child could find them.”

  “Good luck, sir,” the major saluted and signaled for his men to follow him.

  Luck, thought the general, I don’t need luck. He pushed into the forest, following the trail of broken branches. “Man, I love this shit!” He picked up his pace into a fast trot.

  23:34 PM

  Luke slowly awoke and stretched. He’d shut his eyes and rested for a moment while Sophie attended to his leg, and had immediately fallen into a deep sleep. Sophie who was equally fatigued joined him moments later.

  Sophie rested against his chest then stirred. “How long have we been asleep?” she asked groggily, still dozy.

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “We’ve got to go,” she said in alarm.