by Daniel Wilde
I don’t see any way the currently-infection-free continents and countries around the world are going to stay that way. Our only hope is for a vaccine. The good doctors here are still working on it, and despite what I said to Anta, they haven’t given us much to hope for recently.
March 19, 2093—Anta
There’s news from the moon! In our meeting this afternoon, John gave us all a printout from the IIA database.
International Interagency Assembly database, March 19, 2093
Outpost 18 log post (1230 LT)
Be advised:
Hello Kennedy Space Center. This is Dr. Jonas Sampson. We haven’t received a transmission from you in many days. Are you still there? Is there anybody by whom this message will be received? I certainly hope so. Last we heard, Anthrax E was spreading rapidly in the Americas but hadn’t yet progressed into the Eastern Hemisphere. What’s the latest?
Here, all is as well as can be expected for five stranded lunar colonists. Our resources are plentiful and we don’t lack entertainment—if movies, music and books are considered entertainment. I’ve just sent a request through this system, asking any researchers currently working on a vaccine for Anthrax E, who are currently accessing this message board, to send me data and transfigured tissue samples so that we too can begin to work on finding a vaccine.
Doctors Bird, Beaudoin and myself, although not specifically trained in the areas likely necessary to help much, hope that we can be of assistance while we have nothing else to do but wait. I haven’t received any response from any researchers yet. Again, I ask for such data so that we can help, if possible.
Or, maybe we can do something else to help; but I don’t know what.
Please respond.
IWO log post (1432 LT):
Be Advised:
Dr. Sampson and others. It is with sorrow that I inform you that the Kennedy Space Center is no longer active. No personnel are presently on the premises. I am communicating with you from the IWO station in Hamburg, Germany. The destruction left in the wake of Anthrax E in Florida and throughout the Americas is so prolific that entire sections of the governments of those countries have ceased active duties. It is with great concern and guilt that I inform you that it is unlikely that you will be returning home any time soon, or, indeed, that you have any home to return to in some cases.
Of course, you are not forgotten. I am pleased to hear that you are well. Continue the course. We will be in touch.
Unauthorized log post (1925 LT):
Be advised:
Dr. Sampson, this is Dr. Yurgi Shevchuk. I am responding from a location near Boston, Massachusetts. I am not presently authorized to speak with you through this system, but, for reasons explained herein, I have chosen to do so, and I doubt greatly that I will be rebuked or disciplined for this post. Nor do I care if I am.
I have with me several doctors and scientists from numerous disciplines. We are working diligently to find a cure, or a vaccine, for Anthrax E. Our team was the first to begin such research. We have two live persons who we believe are immune. It is from them that we have obtained tissue samples with which to work.
We also have in our presence Dr. Anta Chalthoum, whose brother is with you on the moon; but you probably already know that. She sends her regards and is pleased, as I am, for your lives and for your desire to assist us in our laborious task.
I am sending data and samples now. While I don’t know what you may be able to do to assist us, and even though our testing and data is supposed to be confidential, I see, at this point, that there is harm only in preventing others from seeking to create a vaccine. Currently, Anthrax E threatens to destroy the whole human population. As a result, any secrecy in this research is preposterous.
I will not direct your course of work, but have included our research logs thus far. It seems more prudent, due to our current frustrations, to have you begin your work from whatever process and thoughts you may have, which, ultimately, may prove the key to finding or creating a vaccine. The research and samples I am sending will contain data on the little success that we have had, so that you will not need to duplicate that work. Please keep us apprised of your work so that we may duplicate any successes you achieve. Our team is large and equipped to work through all angles and avenues.
God bless you in your endeavors.
March 25, 2093—Shift
“What happened? What’s going on?” I was desperate for answers and Arilee, as usual, kept her head on straight. That’s one of the things people love about her!
“Early this morning, while it was still dark, I woke up to the sound of the cabin’s front door closing—you know that whooshing sound it makes when it is sealing?”
“What?”
“Shift, let me tell you the story,” Arilee said.
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Go on.”
“I was scared,” she continued, “so I unlocked the gun safe and grabbed that little gun you had me learn to use when we were younger. As I crept down the stairs from the second floor, nearly peeing myself, I saw three silhouettes creeping toward me on the stairs. They didn’t see me until I flipped on the lights with my gun pointed at the one in the front.
“I asked them who they were. They gave me first names and said they were only trying to find a place to hide, away from the chaos and hysteria in Boulder. I told them that they couldn’t stay.”
“Did you tell them about the kids?”
“Of course not. Even though they seemed peaceful and nice, I’m no idiot.”
“Were they young or old? What did they do when you told them to leave?”
“Shift, seriously, let me tell the story.”
“Okay. Tell me what happened.”
“They were probably all in their mid to late thirties; but no, I didn’t ask. When I asked them to leave, with my gun still pointed at them, they didn’t hesitate any longer. They asked my forgiveness and promised they wouldn’t come back. They said they’d find a different cabin.”
“Arilee, there aren’t any other cabins close by. You know that, right?” I asked.
“Yes, I know that, and they must have found that out too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, about seven or eight minutes later, while I was sitting on the couch waiting for the sun to rise, and considering how they could’ve accessed and breached the locks, the door opened again and I felt this terrible pain in my left shoulder. They shot me.”
“I’ll kill them Arilee! Where are they? I’ll kill ‘em!”
“Calm down. No you won’t. How will you even get here? Shut up and just listen to me. I’m obviously fine, right?”
“Okay, go on. I’m trying,” I said. Arilee actually did look fine. She wasn’t even grimacing from pain. Maybe she was okay.
“So, after I felt the pain in my shoulder, those same guys came rushing through the open door holding guns. I was stuck. I couldn’t hide. But I was determined to save the girls. So I dropped to the floor. Shift, you would have loved it! I was like a superhero, seeing my own moves in slow motion as I rolled behind the couch, shooting right at them! I hit two of them before I felt a shot pass through my shoe.”
Arilee held up her shoe to show me where a bullet had passed through the sole of her shoe.
“I couldn’t get my foot behind the couch in time. But I’m okay, it completely missed my foot! Get that look off your face. I’m fine, unlike those bastards.
“The third man ran away, while the other two tried to crawl toward the door. I didn’t know whether I was safe or not, and I didn’t initially see the lone standing man race back through the door, so I kept firing toward the front door where the moaning and crying was coming from. Finally, the sounds of men in pain died off. I crept over to the front door. They were both dead, Shift. I killed them, right there in your family room. Now I don’t know what to do.”
“What about the girls?”
“They woke up during the first interruption, but stayed quiet until I returned to them. Before I settled on the
couch to watch the sun rise, we discussed the possibility of being discovered and they acted exactly as we had agreed. After the men left I warned the girls that the men might return and that they were to stay upstairs no matter what happened.” Arilee began to sob, but quietly, as though the emotional pain was too great to let out all at once. “They locked themselves in the hidden room and would have left the cabin through the escape tunnel if I didn’t get back to them within a half hour. That was the deal.”
I was stunned into silence for a few moments. The strength Arilee was showing amazed me; and I’ve known her all my life. But there was nothing I could do, and I didn’t know what she could do either; so I finally said, “It’s going to be okay. They attacked your family and your home—well, my home. You protected your daughters. You kept everyone safe. You are a superhero, and you didn’t do anything wrong. You know that, right?”
“Yes.”
Arilee told me that, after the room grew quiet, she first checked on the girls, avoiding physical contact, then she put on some rubber gloves and a mask and dragged both men out into the yard and away from the cabin; but they were too heavy to take any further. She knew she couldn’t spend the time outside that it would take to bury them. She can’t call the police either—they likely wouldn’t respond, or even answer the call. Plus, if someone did show up to investigate, that person might be infected with the plague that’s devastating the entirety of the western hemisphere right now.
“I’m afraid Shift, and now I’m not just afraid of Anthrax E.”
“I know. Me too.”
My biggest fear, now that Arilee has used very simple home medical kits to clean and bandage her gunshot wound, is that one of those men might have been contagious already, or that Anthrax E may have been in the air that breached the cabin when the door was opened. They said they had come from Boulder. Arilee’s last contact with anyone in Boulder, several days ago, informed her that Boulder is largely contaminated, and many people had been fleeing to the mountains.
“What should I do now, Shift?”
I didn’t know. What could she do but wait to see if she will die like everybody else. And if she dies, so do her girls.
“You wait,” I said. “Be vigilant, especially at night. You’ll have to decide if you need to quarantine yourself from Diamond and Cedar. But if you do that, you may scare them more than they are now. I don’t know which is worse. If I was you, I would stay with them Arilee, watch for symptoms . . . and pray. Pray like you’ve never prayed before. If you’re contaminated, they will be too before long, no matter what you do.”
Then we talked, in depth, about the early signs of infection. We didn’t make a decision about what to do if the infection had entered the cabin. I didn’t want to think about it unless I had to; although I’m sure I won’t be able to stop thinking about it for the next five days. I want so desperately to be with them. Even now, I can’t stop the tears flowing from my eyes and the lump in my throat that threatens to cut off my air. I haven’t been so frightened since the day Anta and I left El-Alamein.
March 25, 2093—Anta
“Who would want to kill your sister?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Shift replied.
“I’m so sorry Shift,” I said. Then, after a moment, I continued. “I guess we’ll never know who they were, if she killed two of them and the other took off. It’s not like she can go out and hunt the guy.”
“Nor would she anyway,” Shift said. “So, what did you guys talk about this morning while I was on with Arilee?”
“Oh, it was awful,” I said. “We were discussing the fate of the world, as usual. Most of us talked a little about our families. Somebody mentioned how we may be the only family each other has left in a few weeks. People talked about how their families were already dead or sick. It was so sad and depressing.”
“Did you talk about your family?” Shift asked.
“I was asked. But I only said a little. I mentioned how Hasani was doing, and that my parents were trying to get ready. But not much else. I was a little ashamed, knowing that my whole family was still alive, and that nobody else in the room could say the same thing.
“Andrew and Javier both read something from their wives. The pain in their voices and in their eyes was almost unbearable. I broke down and Andrew actually put his arm around me for comfort, when he was the one in need of comfort. I’m so ashamed of that Shift.”
“I’m sorry Anta. I wish I had been there.”
“We recorded the whole meeting, as usual, if you want to hear what people said.”
“Maybe I could just listen to Javier and Andrew,” Shift said. “Can you find them for me?”
I pulled out my MEHD, found the file and pushed play.
I searched until I heard the voice and saw the image of Dr. Andrew Jones on the screen.
“Okay, this is from the journal of my wife, Lauren Jones, dated March 15. She says:
“Andy is safe; at least he was four days ago when I last talked with him. His place in some secluded bunker—a place that’s secret even from me—probably assures his safety long past the point in time when our children and I pass on.
“Over the last few days, news channels here on Long Island have, one-by-one, stopped reporting. We’re no longer in communication, through any means, with any of our friends or neighbors. Just two days ago, Stephanie (our next door neighbor) called to tell me that her four-year-old son had a fever. She was desperately afraid. I wanted to console her and tell her everything was going to be alright, but I knew that would be a lie; so, instead, I just listened to her grieve. It was heartbreaking.
“I’m sure that our time is coming too. Even though we’ve remained indoors for the past 9 days, and schools were shut down two weeks ago as a precaution, there doesn’t seem to be any way to prevent the spread of Anthrax E. Andy can’t help me. He prays for us, as I do for him.
“Each night, before I tuck Jordan and Jacoby into bed, I pray with them that the Lord will keep us safe and will keep daddy safe. At 6 and 3 years old, they seem to be aware that something isn’t right, but I haven’t had the heart to tell them that our days are numbered and we’re all going to die. Jordan was happy to be out of school initially, but now she misses her friends and doesn’t understand why she can’t go play with them. Jacoby wants to go outside for a walk so badly that he cries. What can I do?
“Each night for the past week, I’ve laid next to my children at night until they fall asleep, then I curl up on the floor, under a blanket, and cry until I finally fall asleep. I’m so lonely and so sad. I miss Andy. I miss my friends, many of whom are probably sick or dead.”
I looked at Shift as Andrew finished speaking. There were tears in his eyes.
“Do you still want to hear Javier?” I asked.
“Yes, thank you,” he said.
I moved forward in the file until Javier Franco’s face appeared on the screen. His face was drawn and tear-streaked, even before he began to speak. It was evident that this was a hard thing.
“This was written by my wife, “Archie”, on March 19.
“I can’t handle this anymore. I’m afraid of the boogie man, that isn’t even a man, which is creeping down our street and through our town. But now the boogie man is in my home. All three of my children are sick. Elisha cries uncontrollably while sweat pours from her face. She is in the early stages compared to Nia and Brum. Both of them started with fevers three days ago. They cry out in pain all day and all night. Nothing can take away their pain. Nothing even dulls their pain.
“Little Elisha is next and I can’t go through this with my baby. I have failed as a mom. I can’t protect them. The worst part is that I don’t feel sick, yet. Maybe that’s good because I can care for them, but to what end. If their fate is like the fate of so many of our friends and all of our family in Florida, they’ll be dead within a few short days.
“I pray to God and to the Virgin Mary that my sins are forgiven so I can see my babies in Heaven when my time c
omes. Javier, my lover and protector, has been away from home so long. I pray to God that he is safe. It was a blessing when the call came for him to leave and take his assignment in the bunker. While his absence is terrible, I wouldn’t change it, even though my children miss him so. He cannot help us here.
“To my children, who, during their worst times, call out for Papa, I am an insufficient substitute. My strength is gone, although I am healthy. The heartbreaking wailing and suffering of my children has worn me thin. I will die soon, and when I do, I think it will be a wonderful day.”
“What will become of us Anta?” Shift asked through painful tears and a hitch in his voice.
I reached out and touched his hand. I had no words to say to comfort him, just as I had had no words of comfort for anybody else that morning.
March 29, 2093—Shift
Arilee and Diamond are both sick. Cedar has not begun to cough, but she doesn’t look well. This is the beginning of the end for my sister and her family.
April 4, 2093—Anta
Shift’s nieces, Diamond and Cedar both passed on a little while ago. Shift and I were on the holo with them when they passed. It was heart wrenching. Arilee is on death’s door. He didn’t want to turn off the com while she was still alive, but she insisted. She made him promise to go back to work so that we might be able to save someone.
After I shut off the com, Shift sank to the floor. I tried to help him get up, but he said his desire to live left with them. So I won’t let him be alone.
I’ve now been sitting beside him for several hours. I don’t know whether he appreciates it, but each time he begins to cry anew, I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. During a short break in his mourning, he told me how lonely he felt and that it was beginning to consume him.
“I just said goodbye to my sister, Anta. Forever. I’ll never see her girls again. They were so beautiful. They never did anything wrong. How can life be this way? How can God allow good people to die in such a terrible way, leaving their loved ones to mourn, without any knowledge of when such a fate will befall the rest of us?”