by Daniel Wilde
“Hi Shift,” Doctor Silitzer said.
“Hey John. Good afternoon Dr. Shevchuk.”
“Where’s Dr. Chalthoum? Is she joining us?”
“Yeah, she’s busy for a minute. Would you like me to knock on her bathroom door and ask her if she’s finished peeing?”
“That’s nice Shift. Why don’t you just tell us what you’ve learned?”
“Okay. Here’s the scoop. The Lunar Portal System, apparently, is a series of interconnected glass-like tubes connecting the various colonies and outposts within the inhabited sector of the Moon. Actually, why is it that I’m telling you about this instead of someone from NASA or from the moon?”
“There is a great deal going on within the moon colonies Dr. Bader,” replied the ever-formal Dr. Shevchuk. “NASA and the colonies need to focus on the crisis that is at their door. As you know, Dr. Silitzer and I have been heavily engaged in research of Anthrax E itself. That’s why you got this assignment. Was the burden too great for you Doctor?” The twinkle in Dr. Shevchuk’s eye told me that he might not be quite as serious as I thought. We may have a closet jokester on our hands.
“Right. I’ll stop complaining.” I wasn’t complaining anyway, really. I just wanted to know whether someone else might be better able to read and interpret stuff on the internet than I am. That’s all I did here.
“Anyway, there are approximately 750 miles of cylindrical ‘tubes’ floating several feet off the surface of the moon. Both human and product movement, as well as the sharing of data occurs through these tubes. Through migration of the tubes with the various Encapsulation Shells, a person can travel through the tubes without having to wear any PPE, uh, Personal Protective Equipment, or travel outside the regulated atmosphere of the Encapsulation Shells. In other words, the tubes carry stuff—people, things, and information.
“Lunar Encapsulation Shells cover nearly all outposts in the inhabited sector of the Moon. With only a few exceptions, the Shells maintain atmospheric pressure within a defined space. There are currently six large main Shells, one each for the United States, England, Portuguese-Brazil, Poland, Mexico and Burmo-Thailand, with another under construction by the Egyptian government. There are also 46 smaller Shells covering various outposts used for science, exploration, vacations, etc.”
Crap. “Gentlemen, I need to go, literally. I don’t know what did it, but my insides are feeling quite . . . mushy right now. Must be something I ate. Talk to you later . . .”
Okay. That was intense. Feeling good now. I need to ask Anta if something we ate might have done that to me. We ate something “Egyptian” last night from our wall units. It smelled good at the time, but now—a little less pleasant.
January 12, 2093—Anta
“Hold on John, let me get Shift over here. He had quite a night.”
“Anta, are you laughing?” Doctor Silitzer asked, with a little smirk rounding out the corners of his mouth.
“I’m trying very hard not to. Shift was convinced, last night, that he had Anthrax E. He was scared shitless—literally. Now look whose laughing. Okay, that was profane—I’m sorry.
“Shift and I had a nice meal last night, but the meat was seasoned with an ingredient that causes an allergic reaction in a very, very small percentage of people—mostly just the weak. Okay, don’t tell him I said that—I’m kidding. The reaction causes quite severe diarrhea. I reminded him that diarrhea isn’t one of the symptoms of Anthrax E, but that it is a symptom of eating this particular meal. I’m not sure I convinced him. He’s lying in his room, probably praying, or reading the Bible. I mean it—he was practically delirious with fear. Let me get him. We’ll call you back.”
Thirty minutes later, after Shift took a sponge bath in his chem suit, which he probably REALLY needed if the smell of diarrhea inside the suit was anything like it was when he released it from the suit’s refuse compartment—or “poop chute” as he calls it—we called Dr. Silitzer back. I tried, and it took a great deal of self control, to not tease Shift through the bathroom door during his “bath”.
Shift started talking the instant the connection was secure.
“Don’t even say it John. I know I’m crazy. I know I’m a wimp. But this isn’t funny, so shut it.”
“Dude, I was only going to ask if everything came out alright in the end.” Doctor Silitzer broke up. He laughed for several seconds—even wiped away a tear that was running down his now splotchy, red face. It was funny, but not that funny.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to come out in the end, John . . .” I had to cut Shift off before these two children said something stupid. I mean, more stupid.
“Gentlemen, if we could get back to the crappy business at hand, that would be wonderful.” Good one Anta. Now they’re both laughing. “Seriously, Dr. Silitzer, what do we need to be talking about?”
“Yeah, right, let me just gather myself here. I can’t stop. It just keeps coming out.” That really did it. Shift actually fell off the chair laughing. It’s too bad I have to be the grown up around here.
“Seriously Anta, you’re such a party pooper.” Shift got a kick in the ribs for that one. If he hadn’t been on the floor laughing, it would only have been his shin.
“Goodbye gentlemen; and I use that term very loosely.”
“Just like Shift’s bowels, eh? No wait, don’t walk away Anta, I really do have something to tell you two. I’m done running at the mouth.” Shift actually crawled away to catch his breath. I’ve not seen anyone laugh like these two clowns in a long time. I guess they needed to blow off some steam, because poop jokes really shouldn’t be that funny to grown men.
“Let me know when you’re finished guys. I’ll just sit here and wait. Don’t even say it . . .”
It felt like an eternity, but finally, both Shift and John calmed down. I like these guys, but the timing is a little off. I’m going to forgive them because of the stress that we’re all under right now. Finally, John got serious, although I could tell that he was really fighting his emotions. Shift, on the other hand, giggled like a school boy for the next few minutes.
“Okay, I think I’m done, unlike Shift. Okay, that was out of line. I’m really finished with the jokes. This is actually serious. I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention to the boards, but there’s a new report from the moon.
“The moon colonies report, on a regular basis, any and all irregular events that might have some bearing on the other colonies. For instance, any illness or injury is reported in the International Interagency Assembly Database, or ‘IIAD’. So, of course, they are currently keeping close tabs on Anthrax E in that database. The current news is that, as of yesterday, the United States colony is reporting 15 cases of Anthrax E. I’m sure that’s increased by now. As of yesterday, no other colony was reporting any illness.
“On January 9th, the IIA began requiring that any person, with any medical symptom, other than a physical injury, be contained in some kind of quarantine booth. The IIA also halted all movement, both of product and person, through the portals. So, wherever a person was located, as of January 9, that is where the person will stay, indefinitely. Probably a very good idea. All of this seems to be working, except that the illness is in the United States Shell already. The IIA is hopeful that it will stay there, of course.
“The last item of business is that the IIA has shut down all Earth-Moon communications except for the IIA database, to which our Anthrax E database is connected. I think that means that no private communications are allowed with the moon. Even most governmental agencies won’t be able to contact the moon. So, Anta, you won’t be speaking with your brother any time soon. I’m sorry about that, but it’s not my call. I’m just the bearer of the news.
“I guess I’m not too surprised,” I said. “My brother is pretty resourceful, though, and he may just find a way to get a message to me and my parents anyway.”
“Well, that would be nice. I hope so. That’s all I’ve got for you. Try to enjoy the rest of your day
. Oh, wait, Dr. Shevchuk also wanted me to strongly encourage you two to get out of there and meet with us in the United States. I don’t know where yet, but he’s working on that. Try to get home Shift, and bring Anta with you. I’m out, just like last night’s dinner!”
With that last crack, John shut the com before Shift could retort, leaving Shift to giggle while I glared at him.
It would be nice if Shift could call his sister to tell her he’s trying to get home, but with the coms blackout, that won’t happen. Maybe by the time John gets it arranged, the blackout will be lifted. Yeah, right.
January 12, 2093, 0600 EET
Excerpt from a news story published in the “CNCIG” (Cairo NewsCorp Information Guide)
As of 0600 hours today, nearly 7900 people are reported to be infected with “Anthrax E” in El-Alamein. 59 are confirmed dead of the same, including Mr. Riyad Shafik, believed to have been an original carrier of the disease. There are no reported cases outside the city limits, likely the result of a government quarantine put into effect on January 7. That quarantine, which is still in effect, includes all areas of El-Alamein and the Qattara Depression and extends at least 20 kilometers in all directions.
Additionally, the International Lunar Space Station in the United States Moon Colony reports similar infections, although in a rare instance of concealment by the IWO, and its Lunar arm, the IIA, the number of infected and the number of casualties, if any, have not been disclosed.
January 12, 2093—Anta
I began to cry tonight as I thought of what was occurring and what was likely yet to come. My heart hurt and my lungs burned. The sensation was overpowering. I’ve known sorrow in my life, but this was incomparable. The tears dripped down my face, and I couldn’t make them stop until Shift knocked on my door about 15 minutes later.
Before opening the door, I wiped away my tears the best I could; but I’m sure Shift could see that I had been crying. When he first looked at me, I noticed a slight twisting downward of the corners of his mouth, and his eyes softened as he appeared to share my pain and grief. He didn’t say anything, but I was touched that he cared. I wanted him to hug me, but the suits prevent that kind of contact.
After a few seconds of silence, Shift came in and sat down on one of the soft chairs near the small table in the corner. He sighed as he stared into the blackness outside my window. It looked like he was also fighting his emotions.
We know, having talked with the doctors at the local hospital, and having regular coms with Doctors Shevchuk and Silitzer, that there isn’t any available treatment for Anthrax E, or even the old-fashioned Anthrax. But the world doesn’t seem to know that—yet. Each hour brings hundreds more to the doors of clinics and hospitals where no treatment is helping ease pain or slow the disease.
As we sat in silence, each trying to deal with the pain that was enveloping our hearts and minds, our reverie was suddenly broken by a dull popping sound, like corn kernels in a popper, coming from the window. Shift and I both rushed to the window, which we now keep draped, nearly tripping over each other on the way. I got there first.
“I’ll get the lights,” Shift grumbled.
“Thanks,” I replied cheerfully.
Once Shift turned out the lights, he rejoined me at the window. He peered over my shoulder as I opened the drapes a bit more for him to see out. Outside, the half-moon cast pockets of light through partly-cloudy skies. Out on the water of the Mediterranean Sea, many stories below our hotel room window, it looked like a small boat was attempting to pass through the blockade that was set up on the water when the quarantine was initiated. As we peered through the moon-lit, but shadowed night, we saw several small bursts of light on the water, followed seconds later by more dull thuds.
“Was that a gun?” I asked.
“Sure sounded like it,” Shift replied.
“It looks like someone is trying to get past the blockade out there,” I said.
“And they’re being shot at?”
“Or, maybe the runners are doing the shooting,” I replied.
Just then one of the small boats exploded in a ball of flames. Shift stiffened behind me.
After a few seconds, in which both of us were lost in thought, Shift said quietly, “You know that could present a problem for us if we try to leave. Have you and your father come up with any ideas?”
“We’re working on it,” I replied gloomily.
We watched for a few more minutes, and, not seeing any further action, backed away from the window. I shut the drapes, walked over to the wall unit and ordered some hot chocolate.
“You want anything Shift,” I asked.
“Some water please.”
I returned to the small table where Shift was sitting and set a glass of ice water on the table. “Thank you,” he said, looking at it.
“We’re going to get out of here Shift,” I said, feigning conviction.
“I know. But nobody out there is.”
I looked down at my lap and began to cry again.
We’ve heard the latest reports about the quarantine, indicating there is no infection outside the city apart from the lunar colonies. I certainly don’t want to be stuck here, but I’m grateful for government officials who have done their best—I think—to contain the spread of Anthrax E to the boundaries of El-Alamein. It seems to be working. Maybe my parents will be safe. With Hasani in very real danger, I hope mom and dad, at least, can survive this.
After several minutes of silence, I asked, “Have you thought about the rate, or the potential rate of the spread of this thing?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Well, the population of permanent residents here is about 29,000, right?”
I nodded, adding, “And foreign travelers likely account for another 8,000-10,000 at this time of year.”
“Okay. So, Mr. Shafik first showed symptoms only five days ago from Anthrax E likely contracted just three days before that. He then died three days later, on January 10—or six days after probable contamination. Does all of that make sense so far? I mean, do my estimates seem correct so far?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Go on.”
“Okay, so Dr. Ghannam and his daughter both died a day later. If that timeline follows, and no cure or vaccine is found or created in a reasonable time, each person who has contracted the disease, or who will in the future, will likely be dead within six to seven days of first exposure. It seems possible that every person in this town will be dead within a week to 10 days—including us if we can’t get out of here.”
“I don’t know what to say to that Shift,” I said. “What a burden to have this knowledge. I think . . . well, this sucks! Innocent lives are being sacrificed in El-Alamein because of the quarantine—a quarantine that we initiated.
“I get it though. I know the purpose is to prevent, if it’s even possible, a greater calamity. But more than 35,000 people will probably die in El-Alamein. Some of them might have been able to escape untouched. But I guess it’s impossible to know which of those that escaped would have actually been healthy, and which would have exposed so many other people. I guess it’s better this way.”
“I think so,” Shift replied.
Ultimately, even if Shift and I die, it’s better that we die than that we expose countless other people to Anthrax E, who would then expose others. The end result of that selfishness could be greater death and destruction than this world has ever known. We’re both feeling healthy though, and we’ve had on our suits for eight days now. We’re likely going to survive, at least for now.
“So, I’ve attempted to contact Hasani several times over the past couple of days, but it appears that John was correct,” I said, intentionally changing the subject. “All communication channels, at least the ones that I can use, seem to have been shut down.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry Anta,” Shift said.
“Oh, Dad just com’d,” I said, looking down at my wrist.
“What does he say?”
“Open it!”
Shift is as excited as I am. This could solve the mystery of how Anthrax E got here.
My Dear Anta,
The notebook you sent us was indeed a diary. The poor man who wrote it died in misery and pain. Here are key excerpts. The parts we left out are just more of the same.
Love,
Your father
7. Nov. 1942
I’m safe, for now. Oh, how I miss Hanne and the children. The sounds of war outside the cave have stopped, but I hear a wind howling that is as frightening as the bombs of yesterday.
It’s very cold in here, but I dare not light the wood scattered across the floor in case the enemy might be lurking outside. Or the smoke may suffocate me.
I don’t know why anybody would be looking for me, but I’m too scared to tempt fate.
I feel a desperate urge to leave this shelter provided by a compassionate God, but cannot for fear that I may not make it back on my ailing knee. It pains me greatly and appears to be infected.
9. Nov. 1942
Why has God forsaken me, in my most desperate hour? The sand blown on the winds has shut the cave’s mouth. I am trapped! I cannot dig my way out, although I have tried. Through the sand I hear the continued wail of the great storm. It is probably piling sand on top of sand, burying me deeper and deeper in this cave of sorrow. It may become my tomb.
Thankfully I still have light and food and water. But they will not last long.
13. Nov. 1942
The infection in my knee has spread into my hips. I can feel the burning and smell the stench day and night. I cannot walk.
The cave entrance remains closed and I have no strength to search for another way out. I have no strength to dig myself out.
God has abandoned me as retribution for my acquiescence to the depraved plan of destruction laid before me by Herr Himmler. His cursed plan to test a new weapon among the poor inhabitants of this desert, and his damnable pressure to make me an accomplice, has left me feeling as vile and despicable as Himmler himself.