“Brothers and sisters,” he said, “may I have your attention, please?”
The room slowly fell silent.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Father Paul.”
Several people clapped and shouted words of encouragement.
He smiled and gestured to them.
“Let me begin by saying thank you for coming. Whether you are a Catholic, Protestant, Jew, or atheist, no one can doubt that we are living in a time unlike any before. If ever there was a moment to gather in fellowship, it is now.”
One man shouted, “Christ is coming!”
Father Paul smiled. “He is indeed. Whether that is now or later, no man knows. What I do know is that the town of Boone, and indeed the rest of the world, is suffering.”
Several people said, “Amen.”
“You are probably wondering why I have called you here. The truth is that I need your help.” He held his hands out before him as he had done countless times before when asking people fill the church baskets with their tithing.
The huge mass of people fell silent, waiting for his request. Waiting to see if any of this even mattered.
“Our town is filled with unspeakable horrors—bodies lying in the streets, cars and homes filled with death and decay. Violence at every turn.”
A woman started to sob loudly, mumbling something about her late husband.
“But we are still here,” continued Father Paul. “Many have died, but we did not. God chose us to be here.”
More amens filled the room.
“Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know why. All I know is that we are being called upon for a nearly impossible task—to rebuild our families, to rebuild our town, to rebuild our nation!”
A long round of applause sounded.
When it quieted, he continued.
“God wouldn’t have left us here without the tools and resources that we need to survive. We must, therefore, set aside our fears and rise to His challenge. Indeed, there will be sacrifice and suffering. But there will also be joy and victory.”
A man stood up near the front of the church.
“Father, will the government help us rebuild? We can’t do it on our own.”
“Perhaps one day, but, for now, we are most assuredly on our own. We must work together to establish our infrastructures: food, water, and electricity. Even more important, we must regain the trust of our neighbors and learn once again to depend on one another. God is reminding us that we are all brothers and sisters. It’s time we listened.”
People clapped for nearly a full minute.
“We can do this!” one man yelled.
A beautiful woman with thick, black hair and naturally tan skin stood up from the middle of the church. She was wearing medical scrubs.
“We must also provide at least some basic level of medical care. People are suffering from dehydration and infection. We can’t afford to lose any more. Each life is more precious than ever.”
“I couldn’t have said it better,” said Father Paul. “Miss, are you a medical doctor?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I’m Avany Moura. I worked at the ER center.”
“Dr. Moura, we are delighted to have you here,” Father Paul said, nodding his head to her.
“Please, call me Ava. The time for titles and other formalities has long passed.”
“Indeed.” He turned back to the audience. “Do we have any other doctors here?”
An old man near the back of the room stood.
“I specialize in cardiac care.”
Another man pushed in through the door.
“I’m an obstetrician.”
Ava said, “I know of two other doctors and several nurses who also survived. We’ve been treating the sick and injured at the hospital. It’s not much, but we’re doing what we can.”
“God bless you for that,” said Father Paul.
“What about the gangs?” a woman shouted from the back of the church. “We’ll never be safe with them roaming the streets. They killed a young man in front of my children yesterday.”
Several people shouted their agreement, and the room became chaotic as everyone started talking among themselves.
Father Paul raised his arms again.
“Your attention, please.”
The talking continued but in more hushed tones.
“Yes, we must deal with the violence,” he continued.
“How?” the same woman shouted. “No offense, Father, but sharing God’s word isn’t going to work with these thugs.”
“No,” said Father Paul, “such men are not easily convinced to change their ways. That is why I have asked Marshal Raines to help us.” He motioned for Mason to come up on stage.
When Mason and Bowie moved up beside Father Paul, the entire room came alive. Everyone seemed more concerned by the giant dog than comforted by the marshal’s presence.
Mason leaned over to Bowie and said, “Announce yourself.”
Bowie looked at him, and then back at the large audience. When Mason continued to stare at him, the dog finally let out a loud woof!
A few people in the front row shifted in their seats, looking around anxiously for a way out of the packed church. Nearly everyone fell silent.
Mason grinned. “That’s Bowie, and I’m Deputy Marshal Raines. We’re here to help you take back your town.”
A heavyset man shouted, “How you gonna do that, Marshal? One man and a dog ain’t near enough.”
“We don’t want no trouble!” yelled a black woman from the back of the church.
“If you make them angry, they’ll kill us all for sure,” said an older lady sitting, in the front row.
Ava stood up again, and Mason found his gaze drawn to her. She met his eyes and spoke.
“Marshal, people are afraid that you will somehow make things worse.”
“I understand,” he replied. “There’s no question that there’s a choice to be made. The townspeople of Boone can hide in the shadows and hope that these thugs will eventually tire of raping and killing—”
Several people started to grumble at his words. Ava grinned, never breaking eye contact.
“Or,” he said, raising his voice, “they can push back and tell these men that nothing will come easy. That, for every life they take, the town will demand two.”
“An eye for an eye,” said the old woman in the front row, nodding. “That’s God’s way.”
“Call it what you want,” said Mason, “an enemy does not become more of an enemy when you fight him.”
“Will you help us to fight them?” Ava asked, her voice soft, as if it were just the two of them sharing a private conversation.
“Yes, I will fight them.”
“And you’re good at that?”
“I am.”
She nodded and sat back down.
A man with his arm in a sling struggled to his feet.
“Marshal, no disrespect, but there are dozens of criminals. Even you and that beast can’t possibly stand up to all of them.”
“That’s true,” Mason said, reaching down and petting Bowie. “Even with a friend like Bowie, I can’t triumph over forty men. Are there others here with experience in law enforcement who would be willing to stand with me?”
Mason stood quietly, looking at the townspeople, wondering if anyone would find their courage. After nearly a minute of silence, a man in his sixties stood up in the front row. His wife was tugging at him to sit back down.
“I’m Max Blue. I was the police chief here in Boone until I retired a few years back. I’m not as fleet of foot anymore, but I can help.”
A man wearing a sidearm got to his feet.
“I’m Vince Tripp. I was a Watauga County Deputy Sheriff, and I’ll stand with you, Marshal.”
A third man, fit and muscular but balancing on a prosthetic leg, rose.
“Don Potts. I spent four years as an MP in the army. And, if you don’t mind this,” he said, patting his leg, “I’ll fight at
your side.”
Finally, a wiry man wearing an old plaid shirt, dirty blue jeans, and a straw hat stood.
“My friends call me Coon on account of I’ve been known to eat one on occasion.”
Several people snickered.
“I don’t have any law enforcement experience to speak of, but I can hit a squirrel in the nuts at a hundred yards. If you need shootin’ done, I’m your man.”
Mason nodded. These brave misfits would be his deputies.
CHAPTER
13
Executive Order 16661
Establishment of the Viral Defense Corps
By virtue of the authority vested in me by the Congress, and as the elected President of the United States, the following is hereby ordered:
Section 1. Establishment of the Viral Defense Corps. An agency shall be established in the Department of Defense that shall be known as the Viral, Defense Corps (VDC). The VDC shall be headed by the vice president until, a permanent director can be appointed.
Section 2. Functions of the Viral Defense Corps. (a) The VDC shall be responsible for testing the inhabitants of the United States for the Superpox-99 virus. (b) The VDC shall be responsible for categorizing citizens as either infected or virus free. (c) The VDC shall be responsible for protecting virus-free citizens from those infected with the Superpox-99 virus.
Section 3. Authority of the Viral Defense Corps. (a) The VDC shall have the authority to perform blood-sample testing on any inhabitant of the United States. (b) Beyond enforcing mandatory testing, the VDC shall have no additional authority over those who are found to be virus free. (c) The VDC shall have the authority to detain, imprison, segregate, or take any other actions deemed necessary to prevent those who test as infected from posing a danger to the population of the United States.
President Glass stared at the paper with the same horror that a frightened man might study a contract he had just signed in blood with a Crossroads Demon. And, like that man who had traded his soul for profit, she understood that her signature on the order could only lead to eternal damnation.
She felt sick to her stomach. This was the kind of action that dictators took to tighten their grip over citizens too frightened to rebel. She had no misconceptions about what she was signing. Lincoln had carefully worded the document to give him the legal authority to enforce his brutal agenda of population cleansing. In her heart, she knew that such an action was indefensible.
Despite all her reservations, she scribbled her name at the bottom of the page. President Glass accepted that she was taking the easy way out. But she also understood that, if she fought against his agenda, she would have to propose one of her own. And that was something that she was currently incapable of doing. It was better to ride on a train headed to hell than to be left behind sitting on the cold iron tracks of indecision.
CHAPTER
14
After much discussion, Boone’s church congregation formed a small council to organize and plan the town’s recovery. To keep it manageable, the council was limited to ten members. Anyone with previous political experience was immediately ruled out. This was to be a council of action, and only those with practical skills that could be put to immediate use were invited. The time for politics would come later, assuming that the small society even survived.
Mason, Father Paul, Ava, and retired Police Chief Max Blue were the first four selected for the council. In addition, there were six others familiar with nearly every aspect of the city. They included a general contractor, a foreman at the local water plant, an engineering professor, an influential businessman, a tow truck operator, and a banker. Immediately following the larger meeting, the ten gathered around a long table in an antechamber of the church.
“Does anyone have a suggestion about where to start?” Ava asked, looking around the table.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mason couldn’t help but be drawn in by her exotic beauty, the long black hair, rich brown skin, and trim runner’s body. She noticed him staring at her and smiled.
Caught in the act, he instinctively looked away. Regretting his retreat, he looked back to see that her eyes had never left him. He nodded slightly, and she did the same.
Collecting himself, he said, “Survival starts with food, water, and shelter. In this case, shelter isn’t much of a problem. That leaves food and water.”
“At the hospital, we’re already seeing signs of dehydration as well as a host of stomach ailments caused by drinking contaminated water. Access to clean water would really help.”
Fred Turner, a man with a large belly and a full beard, said, “I was a supervisor at the water treatment plant. If I had electricity and a few helping hands, I could get the city water back up and running within a day. The pressure might not be as good as what people are used to, but at least the water would be flowing.”
“Based on our turnout, getting the helping hands shouldn’t be a problem,” said Father Paul, “but I’m not so sure about the electricity. That’s an infrastructure that is generated beyond this small town.”
Betty Laslow, a petite middle-aged black woman, and professor at the university, spoke up.
“We have a large solar generation system at the college, but I’m afraid there are very few people left who still know how to operate it.”
“Even if we could get it operational, it would be a major undertaking to tie it into the existing distribution system,” said Fred.
“Don’t you have backup generators to run the water pumps in case the power goes out?” asked Mason.
“We do, but the fuel ran out more than a week ago.”
“There must be at least two dozen gas stations in town,” Chief Blue pointed out. “Can’t we get at least one up and running?”
Steve Price, a foreman who had run several large city construction projects, spoke up.
“It shouldn’t be too hard to get a generator over to one of the service stations and wire it up.”
“Once you get a fuel pump running,” asked Mason, “can you truck the gas over to the water plant?”
“Sure. My sons and I can do that.”
“If you bring me the fuel,” said Fred, “I’ll get the water turned back on. But we’ll need a couple of people at the plant around the clock to keep everything running.”
“A small price to pay for clean water,” said Father Paul. “In my mind, water may be the single biggest step we can take to ease suffering.”
“It’s important that we think about the long term, too,” said Mason. “Even if the water plant is brought back online, the fuel will eventually run out. I’d suggest that we find some way to stockpile as much water as possible.”
“That’s easy,” said Fred. “We have the two old water towers on the outskirts of town. Together, they hold nearly a million gallons. If we can get the pumps running, the system can refill them in a matter of days.”
“If the townspeople are frugal, a million gallons could last a good many months,” said Mason.
“Especially given the town’s current population,” said Betty. Her hand flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry, that was terribly insensitive.”
Father Paul touched her hand and offered an understanding smile.
Without further discussion, everyone agreed to the plan, and actions were assigned. If all went well, water would be flowing by the following morning. A few days after that, the town’s water towers would be full, providing a critical safety net.
“Next on the agenda is food,” said Father Paul, rubbing his belly. “I, for one, would love a hot meal.”
“There’s plenty of food to go around for a while if it can be safely gathered from people’s homes and grocery stores,” said Betty. “So many people died so quickly …” She left the rest unspoken.
Father Paul didn’t seem convinced of the plan. “Gathering food from homes would require a huge team of people. Plus, we’d need someplace to store and serve the food.”
Betty was quick to reply.
&nb
sp; “I was thinking that the cafeteria at the college would be an excellent place to serve food. Even if we can’t find a way to get the ovens running, we have tables and other commercial food preparation equipment.”
“Once again, it will come down to getting enough people to support this,” said Father Paul. “They’re going to be afraid, especially to go into other people’s homes.”
Mason turned to Ava.
“How long does the virus stay alive in dead bodies?”
“Strictly speaking, a virus isn’t alive at all,” she said. “A virus is a particle that infiltrates a living organism, replicates, and eventually kills or mutates the cells. But, in answer to your question, I’m not really sure. Certainly, smallpox was contagious through exposure to bodily fluids, even after death. However, it appears that Superpox-99 may be different.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve spoken with numerous people who have come into contact with bodies, either burying them, or simply moving them out of their homes. In every case, they didn’t contract the virus. It appears that, when the host dies, the virus quickly becomes inactive.”
“Thank God for that,” sighed Father Paul. “I personally removed nearly two dozen bodies from the church yesterday.”
Everyone looked around the church, and, for the first time, understood the importance of the question at hand.
“I’m confident that infection becomes unlikely a few hours after death,” Ava continued. “That’s one reason I believe that this virus isn’t naturally occurring.”
Mason leaned forward in his chair.
“Are you saying that you think this is a biological weapon? A terrorist attack on our country?”
She shrugged. “I suppose it could be, but it seems more like an accident to me. Think about it. Every country in the world appears to have been equally devastated. That’s not much of a military strategy.”
“People playing God with things they can’t control,” said Chief Blue.
“Amen,” agreed Father Paul.
“If it is a bio weapon, it makes sense that it might have been engineered to spread quickly, kill nearly everyone, and then die out in a controlled manner,” said Mason. “That would have enabled the users to have some certainty about when to emerge from hiding.”
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