Today We Die (The Killing Sands Book 1)

by Daniel Wilde

  15. Nov. 1942

  My food is gone. A small pool of water has formed near the former opening to my prison. It must be raining outside. Or perhaps it rained days ago. Nevertheless, the water only prolongs my certain death.

  Oh, that I had refused to help in this awful plan! But if I had, my dear wife and children would already be dead at the hands of that wicked man.

  22. Nov. 1942

  I have been 15 days in this cave. The agony of infection, although barely endurable at best, is a mere trifle compared to the agony of emotion that has plagued me since I arrived in this place to fight in this unholy war.

  The little bit of wood in the cave ran out days ago. The water is nearly gone, but could last for several days yet. I’ve stored as much as my mess kit and canteen will hold for use when the pool runs dry. But I’m starving.

  Whatever is sealed up in this small vial could end this suffering. Or, would it prolong or increase my misery? I am afraid to find out.

  26. Nov. 1942

  I have nothing to sustain my life but a little water. I will never see Hanne and the children again. What have I done? The despair is destroying my soul, and the excruciating pain of infection has now consumed my body. I cannot move except to the table to mark my days. Nor do I have anywhere to go.

  I have opened the vial. Let it destroy me as punishment for my sins.

  30. Nov. 1942

  I am a dead man. My insides churn and move of their own volition. It feels as though millions of tiny insects move within me, devouring me, like a plague. Blood seeps from my nose and mouth and every cough sends spasms of pain throughout my devastated body. Himmler’s Anthrax has killed me.

  This is the price I pay for my sin. God have mercy on my soul.

  “Oh Shift. That poor man.” I choked out the words and started to cry again. All my earlier emotion returning, magnified by the knowledge of the pain these people in El Alamein are going through.

  “Yeah,” Shift said as he reached across the table and rested his gloved hand on mine. There was little else to say.

  January 13, 2093, 4:30 PM—Shift

  As of a couple of days ago, the United States colony thought they had contained Anthrax E to the medical facilities, but they were wrong. 17 more cases were reported on January 11. All of those people were placed in containment, but it didn’t work. Today, the United States colony is reporting an additional 264 cases of Anthrax E!

  But it gets worse. Other colonies on the moon now report illness. Only the Burmo-Thailand Shell and the Mexican Shell are still clear. Containment facilities in the United States shell are full and all the colonies are implementing safety procedures and no-travel restrictions. It looks like they aren’t working.

  Here in El-Alamein, it’s estimated that over 11,000 people are infected and more than 200 have died. And that’s the estimate from two days ago. We’re not receiving any more local reports, but I’m sure today is much, much worse.

  January 14, 2093—Shift

  “So the only colony not affected, or so it appears, is Mexico?” Anta asked, sitting on the couch in my hotel room.

  “That’s what they say. There’s over a thousand people sick or dead now up there.”

  It still seemed strange to be wearing this chem suit. What should have been the most ordinary scene was anything but ordinary. Anta sat on the couch with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap, while I worked on my tablet at the table. Ordinary, except that we were both cocooned in silver-colored body armor looking at each other through plasteel face plates.

  Anta continued, her voice pensive, “Because travel restrictions were put into place several days ago, and all the other colonies are experiencing illness, do you think it’s possible that the Mexican colony may actually stay clean? That would be great for them, I guess, except, what happens when everyone else is dead? There’s no way the IIA or the IWO is going to allow Mexico to come home. And there’s no way, at least not for a very long time, that the IIA or IWO is going to let any ship leave Earth for the moon.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I replied. “Dr. Shevchuk isn’t any closer to a vaccine or cure. He desperately wants us to go to Boston, and bring our physical samples with us. John just got there today, along with a couple other specialists of some kind. Shevchuk thinks that the actual samples we have would be more helpful than the data and transfigured samples that we previously sent him. I’m sure he’s right.”

  “Where are they anyway?”

  “In some kind of bunker outside Boston somewhere. They won’t tell me where they are until we’ve escaped from this place.”

  “Why?” Anta asked.

  “They’re trying to keep it a secret, I guess, probably to keep people away from wherever they are. If word got out that they’re working on a cure or a vaccine, there could be a potential rush on the medications or information before its ready for official release.”

  “That makes sense, but most people don’t seem to think this is much of a threat, do they?”

  “Seems that way,” I replied. “Since nearly every problem like this has been easily contained—at least during the lifetimes of the majority of humans on Earth now—and have never posed much of a world-wide threat, people don’t seem too worried.”

  “Well, I am. We need to get to Boston.”

  January 15, 2093—Anta

  Ignorance is NOT bliss; at best it’s just a short-term denial of reality. We’re in the dark regarding what’s happening all around us here in El-Alamein, but that ignorance doesn’t comfort me. Even dad has no idea what’s happening here.

  What we see, of course, is quite telling. For the past several days, Shift and I have spent significant time watching out the windows, looking at the town below. We don’t have much else going on.

  The flow of people has dried up. There are no people on the streets or in the air. No more gunshots in the night. No sounds of people in the hotel. Shift “moved in” with me. We’re both just a little more comfortable having another living—and healthy—person nearby.

  Our door is locked and we’ve put furniture in front of it just in case some crazed person decides to try to break in. I know that’s a pretty unrealistic fear at this point—but that’s what always happens in the horror movies.

  When you’re bored, depressed, and on edge, like we are, your imagination can play tricks on you—like thinking you’re in a horror movie. We’re alone, left to decide whether we should venture outside and risk near-certain death, or wait in our hotel room and hope to fend off the oncoming wave of monsters. At least, that’s what it feels like.

  Shift is getting a little pissy though, so we’re not having much fun in our little movie. I’m thinking of kicking him out.

  Thankfully, our room’s wall unit continues to function, providing us with a never-ending supply of what Shift calls “wall-crap”. He hates the food, but I don’t think it’s that bad. At least we’re not starving.

  It seems obvious, though, that if the people who maintain the units have stopped doing so, because they’re all sick in bed or worse, then the machines will eventually break down or run out of whatever it is that supplies our nutritional needs. Of course, the demand for the food and drink is probably down to two—Shift and I. This hotel has over 4000 rooms. If the units installed in each room are meant to work for hundreds, or thousands of uses before maintenance is required, then, assuming we can ever leave this room, and can remove the probably-deceased occupants of other rooms without becoming infected, we should have plenty of food and water for many years to come. But I don’t want to stay here to find out, especially if Shift can’t get past his funk. Plus, we don’t have that much canned air.

  January 15, 2093—Shift

  The combined lunar colonies have reported more than 2300 infected, with more than 800 of those resulting in death—so far. And the deaths, although not detailed in the database, can’t be pretty. I don’t know how they get rid of bodies up there; or who’s doing it?

  Who is brave
enough to touch them or even go near them? Probably nobody. The bodies are probably piling up in the medical facilities while the bodies of the dead outside the facilities likely lie where they fall.

  Anta has just finished speaking with her father. I can see that her eyes are red, so she’s been crying again. This has got to be difficult for them.

  “Want to hear the stats?” I asked as Anta sat down next to me on the bed.

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. From what John tells me, the total lunar population is 14,502, with approximately 2,900 of those stationed in the Mexican colony, either permanently or temporarily due to the restriction on transportation. And, Mexico has just applied for authority to transfer all of them back to Earth.”

  Anta nodded, though her eyes unmistakably changed from sorrow to fear.

  Seeing the fear rise in her expression, and having felt it myself while talking with John earlier, I hastily added, “But the IWO hasn’t given them permission yet. Selfishly, Anta, I hope they never get to come home.”

  “I feel the same way Shift. And I feel terrible about that.”

  January 19, 2093—Shift

  “Did you hear that Anta?” I whispered.

  “Yeah, what was it?” Anta walked over to the window and looked down toward the deserted street below. “It sounded like a motorcycle, didn’t it?”

  I joined her at the window, but looked up instead. “Look!”

  Since the quarantine was established, we’ve heard very little automotive noise.

  “I think that plane has the IWO logo on the side. Can you tell?” Anta asked, squinting into the sun to our right.

  “Yeah, I think you’re right. If the IWO has started physical surveillance of this place, maybe we’ll get out of here soon.”

  Anta’s father told us yesterday that the IWO has taken control of the situation and no branch of the Egyptian government has any influence on what transpires here now.

  “Well, if we can verify that it’s the IWO, I say we go up to the roof to see if we can make contact. Dad told the IWO we’re here, but they may not believe we’re still safe and healthy. I guess we’ve got to show them. What do you think?”

  I’ve learned that this type of question from Anta is merely an attempt to humor me. She’ll go up on that roof no matter what I say.

  “Yeah, let’s go. Wait, it’s leaving,” I said, pointing to the sky.

  The plane headed away from the city. We both stood there for several minutes, in silence, wondering if it would come back. It didn’t. They probably saw no sign of life and turned around. Finally, we both wandered away from the window and resumed what we had been doing.

  Logically, Anta and I are the only people still alive in this town, unless some fortunate soul locked him or herself inside some kind of bomb shelter before the outbreak. Interestingly, we haven’t seen any animals either, except for the birds. There are no dogs frolicking, no cats running amok at night. No animals foraging through the trash.

  But there are birds—lots of them. Maybe birds, at least, are immune to Anthrax E. If so, that will have to be taken into consideration for both potential immunities and potential spread of the disease. Birds seem to be the most likely means—apart from wind—of carrying the disease outside the quarantine zone. If they are immune, might they still be carriers? That would suck.

  “I think we need to figure out a contingency plan just in case the IWO doesn’t believe we’re still alive, and doesn’t send another plane back to check on us,” I said, my thoughts becoming words.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a plan, and we probably need to act on it now,” Anta replied, with her usual air of confidence, which she may have been putting on for my sake. But that’s good, because we’re running out of compressed oxygen cubes. We haven’t talked about it, but we both know that we’ve got to get out of here within the next couple of days or we’ll run out of air, risking probable contamination ourselves. Contamination equals death.

  “So, what’s the plan dude?”

  “Can’t I at least be a dudette?” replied Anta sternly. I was speechless for a few moments, until Anta began to laugh and said, “Close your mouth. You look silly.”

  I did and she continued seriously, “If we haven’t been rescued by the IWO by tomorrow evening, which seems almost certain, we’re driving out of here, through the desert, dude. At the latest, we’ve got to be out of here in the next couple of days or we’ll run out of air.”

  “Yeah, but how do we get out without taking Anthrax E with us, or getting shot? What’s your plan for that?” I asked.

  Then she told me. We’re planning our evacuation route now. In addition to the chem suits Anta brought with us, she also brought a ton of high-level Glutaraldehyde sterilant spray used to disinfect medical instruments in hospitals and operating rooms. She believes that, with a high enough dose of the sterilant, we should be able to kill any microbes or spores attached to our chem suits, our gear, and her truck before we remove the suits, thus protecting ourselves from Anthrax E infection. She’s got this whole plan figured out, and a specific order for it all. She’s so cool!

  January 20, 2093—Shift

  Reports are in from the moon. 85% of the United States colony is infected, along with more than 1000 people in the Polish colony, over 1600 in the German colony, more than 1200 in the Portuguese-Brazil colony, and over 1000 people in the Burmo-Thailand colony. Most people have not lived more than 98 hours after first exhibiting signs of infection. Mexico is still infection-free, but it’s been denied permission to return to Earth—twice.

  A little while ago, I was reading a press release on the Net, with today’s date, but no author taking credit for the information. It said:

  The IWO has been hiding a serious crisis taking place within the moon colonies. A disease, previously-unknown, and now dubbed “Anthrax E” has devastated the population of the lunar colonies. Thousands are dead and hope for the survival of others is slim at best. The disease has no cure and there is no vaccine. Every person who has contracted the disease thus far is dead or is expected to die. There is no treatment.

  All communication with the moon (except for security channels) and all travel to and from the moon has ceased. This secret of the IWO certainly places all of us at risk. Who knows what this malady really is? Who knows what this outbreak really means for the survival of our planet? Where did the disease come from and are we at risk?

  We call upon the IWO to . . .

  But just as I began the third paragraph, the article disappeared, right before my eyes, like some creepy, digital magic trick. The IWO probably didn’t authorize that article and got rid of it. I wonder how many people read it first. I wonder whose head is being chopped off for the posting.

  Anta hasn’t been successful in her “official” attempt to get us out of here, and we haven’t seen or heard any air traffic today. So, we’re leaving, within minutes, both for our survival and possibly for the survival of this world. If we survive, awesome! If we can’t get out of here alive, then I’m pretty sure that this great planet is screwed. I’m not overly confident in the quarantine, since the people patrolling the borders will have one heck of a time containing the wind should it rise again.

  “Shift!” Anta called through the open door to the bathroom, where I was attempting to shave inside my expanded suit. “Dad is hailing you. Get in here! Oh, he isn’t on the line—it’s just a message.”

  “What does it say?” I asked as I hesitated, then hurried across the room, my chem suit rustling as I moved. Anta’s dad has been communicating with us like this for a few days. I think he may be worried about actually telling us anything. Instead, he just passes on information, usually authored by others. We know he wants us to get out of here, and I know Anta has told him of our plan to leave today.

  “Let’s read it,” Anta replied, as she typed in my password to access the secure documents on my MEHD.

  Final conclusions and resolutions reached following Ministry meeting held on January 20, 2093, sc
ribed by Aloli Baz:

  The following conclusions and resolutions have been reached with regard to the El-Alamein situation, and have been cleared and approved by the IWO:

  Beginning at 0600 hours, tomorrow, which is January 21, 2093, El-Alamein will be searched, house to house and building to building, to locate any survivor of Anthrax E. Any living individual(s) located will be scanned to determine his or her health status. Upon scanning, the inspector will either aid the individual in hastening death or remove the individual from the city, depending upon whether the individual is contaminated. Animals will not be inspected as time is of the essence. 1,200 inspectors will be assigned this task. All inspectors will be outfitted with CBRN suits to prevent infection.

  The search will conclude promptly at 1600 hours that day and all inspectors and healthy survivors will have one hour to report to the east quarantine checkpoint for departure. No further time for inspection will be permitted based upon an incoming storm front projected to arrive on January 22. Thus, inspectors will be expected to act in haste.

  Upon check-in at the east quarantine checkpoint, all survivors and inspectors will be cleansed and placed into individual mobile holding blocks for examination for seven days. All precautions will be taken to ensure that no such individual is allowed to leave his or her block. All necessary comforts will be provided to all held individuals.

  At 1800 hours on January 21, rigid HMP Foam (high-density, microcellular polyurethane foam) will be applied, via application guns mounted on low-speed, high-altitude hovercraft. The entire city will be sealed with such foam. Applicators will be expected to ensure, using high-resolution satellite radiography, that every inch of the city and the Qattara Depression, to the edge of the quarantine zone on all sides, is completely enclosed.