Resurrection America

by Jeff Gunhus

  “Those are holding cells,” Rick said.

  “Yes, I know.”

  Keefer opened the heavy door. The second he did, men’s voices erupted from the other side.

  “Let us out of here.”

  “I know my rights, dammit.”

  Rick crossed the room and looked down the hallway. The holding cells dated back to the fifties, just vertical bars with coats of thick white paint, and he’d locked up more than a few people in them to sleep off a heavy night at Roscoe’s Bar. But he didn’t recognize any of the men locked up there now.

  He turned a hard look on Keefer. “What are these guys doing in my jail?”

  Keefer looked amused, but appeared to want to play nice. “Sorry, I should have talked to you before we commandeered your facilities here.” He closed the door and the sound of the men faded. “These three were caught trying to sneak past the perimeter. My men are on orders to shoot anyone caught trying to leave. These guys are lucky they’re here and not inside a body bag.”

  “Are those three the problem?” Bertie asked. “Looks like they are safely put away.”

  “The problem is the two thousand people out there. There is zero margin for error on this mission.” He walked to the window and looked out into the square. “I tried to warn people in the Pentagon how bad it could get, but they just don’t want to hear the truth.” He pointed to the door that led to the jail cells. “If just one of those idiots back there had gotten out, four hours from now, we’d have a weapon of mass destruction right here in America. If the virus gets out, it can’t be stopped.”

  “That’s a pretty shitty design,” Cassie said. “Even for a weapon. I mean, who makes a weapon that once you fire it just comes back and kills you too?”

  “The plan was to modify the virus in the mountain lab,” Keefer said. “That was the work we were tasked with. To make it so that we could control it.”

  “Jesus! And Morris was part of this?” Cassie asked.

  Keefer ignored the question. “What I need from all of you,” he said, “is to convey just how vital full compliance is. Mayor, you and the sheriff here are the natural authority figures in this town. You were perfect on the stage, but I need the two of you out there spreading the gospel on the ground so that people take it seriously.”

  “So, why am I here?” Cassie said.

  “You’re a scientist, a pretty good one from what I understand,” he said. “The women will trust you because you’re intelligent. The men will listen to you because you’re pretty.”

  “Illegal purveyor of biological weapons and a sexist,” she said. “You’re the whole package, aren’t you?”

  “So that’s it?” Rick said. “You just need us to help keep people in line? I think we were already doing that.”

  “I just want you to fully understand the stakes here.” Keefer walked to the side entrance that led to the small alley between the sheriff’s station and the long-abandoned store next door. He opened it and two soldiers dragged in a body bag, dropping it onto the floor. The top of the bag wasn’t zipped and a bloody face was visible. It was a young man, a teenager by the looks of it. Bertie let out a cry and turned away. Cassie stared, open mouthed, but then turned and glared at Keefer.

  “Jesus, he’s just a kid,” she said. “You shot a kid.”

  “Do you know him?” Keefer asked.

  Rick shook his head. He’d seen enough young faces staring up from body bags to last a lifetime. When he’d woken up that morning, he didn’t imagine he’d be looking at one on the floor of his office. “Don’t recognize him. He’s not from around here.”

  “What’s wrong with you people?” Cassie asked.

  “This kid crawled through one of the buildings in the square and then out through the basement cellar. He was on his way out of town when he was spotted.”

  Rick lifted the flap of the body bag.

  “Oh God,” Cassie said.

  There was a ragged, bloody crater blown out in the teenager’s chest. “That’s an exit wound,” Rick said. “He was shot in the back.”

  Keefer nodded. “Here’s what you have to understand. We’re being watched by every kind of surveillance you can imagine at the very highest levels of government. If there’s a breach, if they think for a second that this can’t be contained …”

  “They’re going to vaporize this place,” Rick said. “Sterilize it to kill the virus.”

  Bertie turned to Keefer. “Would they do that?”

  Rick looked out through the plate glass windows in front of the station. Through it he had a panorama of the people-filled square. He’d seen the military’s fear of collateral damage drop to nearly zero while he’d fought in the Jihadi wars. Entire villages decimated on barely reliable intel that an enemy leader might be hiding among the mud huts. He had no misconception of what the government was capable of doing, especially if it perceived what was happening in Resurrection as an existential threat.

  “I’m surprised they haven’t already,” Rick said.

  “But they don’t need to,” Cassie said, her previous bravado taken over by a creeping worry. “It’s contained, right? The vaccine works.”

  Keefer stared at Rick, two soldiers who’d been through the grinder together. Rick suddenly understood.

  “If one person gets out, probably to some external perimeter five or six miles from here,” he said, “that’d be enough for them to say it’s too risky.”

  Keefer nodded.

  “And the vaccine?” Bertie asked.

  “The troops are still wearing the hazmat suits,” Rick said, feeling stupid for not having put two and two together before. “Makes it hard to move around, slows everything down.”

  “Why not just give them the vaccine so they could …” Cassie’s voice trailed off. She looked at Rick, scared now. “Oh holy shit.”

  Bertie stood up from her chair, picking up on their body language. “What are you two talking about?”

  “Bertie, the soldiers are keeping the suits on because they know what the people out there can’t be told.” He drew in a deep breath. “They’re not sure the vaccine will work.”

  24

  Keefer was pleased with the meeting. In fact, by his analysis, everything had gone as well as could be expected so far. But he was a practical man and he subscribed to the old axiom that no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy.

  As a student of history, he knew the often-quoted remark was from Moltke the Elder, the architect of Germany’s Wars of Unification in the nineteenth century. The old German’s ideas about warfare matched Keefer’s own. He’d been the first to reorganize his armies into smaller units, changing his orders from specific actions to overall goals to be achieved within the theater of operations.

  Moltke used stealthy, flanking maneuvers to envelop and crush an enemy instead of marching head-on in an attempt to pierce the center. It was a lesson ignored by another of Keefer’s heroes, General Robert E. Lee, who sent his force against the Union center in a costly and foolish charge at the battle of Gettysburg. The fact that Pickett’s Charge resulted in fifty percent casualty rates wasn’t what bothered Keefer, as he was no stranger to taking heavy losses to achieve an objective. What bothered him was that a great leader such as Lee could ignore history’s lessons and make such a tactical error.

  Keefer would not make the same mistake.

  He followed the others back out into the square. They looked rattled, which was exactly what he’d meant to accomplish. The more worried they were, the more malleable they would be as issues came up. Each of them had a role to play and he meant to see them perform it well.

  The mayor was easy. She exuded trust and likability. Of course the townspeople who already knew her would take instruction from her, but the real value was her ability to instantly connect with the thousand plus strangers who’d met her for the first time when she stood on the stage. She had just enough grandma in her to make everyone feel comfortable, her maternal protectiveness apparent in every gest
ure and word. But it was more than that. She possessed enough of an aura of command that her competence wouldn’t be questioned. Keefer was fortunate to have her.

  Even the sheriff had been a pleasant surprise. After their interaction up on the mountain, Keefer had considered removing the lawman from the equation all together at the start of the operation. It would have been easy enough in the confusion, but he had waited. Observing him with the little boy on the stage, and with the woman afterward, revealed the man’s pressure points. Keefer knew that if things ever went south, he could use the two of them to get the sheriff to play ball.

  Cassie Baker was a different story. He still found it ridiculous that Brandon had saddled him with this extra complication, especially now of all times. He would never have agreed to it except for Brandon’s insistence that her expertise was irreplaceable, making the pitch that her skills would be invaluable in the future he and Keefer had imagined together.

  Keefer smiled at that thought. If only Brandon knew what the future really held.

  Still, the point was valid. Her expertise could prove useful. He’d been in charge of Special Weapons long enough to give most physicists, armament manufacturers, and integrated biologists a run for their money, but he was no scientist. America in the future needed people like Cassie Baker, even if she came with a bad attitude. The only concern he had was that she could become disruptive at some point. At the end of the meeting, she’d badgered him for more information about the virus and had grown increasingly frustrated by his lack of answers. He considered that at some point he might need to stash her in the jail or sedate her until the clock on the stage ran down, but he knew that anything he did to her would just complicate things with the sheriff. And Keefer wanted him as a friendly face to help with the crowd. He decided to monitor the situation and see where it led.

  Keefer watched the three of them go their separate ways into the square, each charged with the task of keeping the peace and keeping an ear open for anyone thinking about making a run for it.

  Estevez walked up, still in a hazmat suit, also looking at the three civilians spreading out into the crowd. He didn’t comment, but the expression on the man’s face was so transparent it was almost laughable.

  “We’re right on schedule,” he said. “Fifteen or twenty minutes ahead, actually.”

  “You don’t approve of the way I’m using those three,” Keefer said.

  Estevez shrugged and looked away. “It’s your call.”

  Keefer nodded. Their conversation yesterday had made an impact on his number two, maybe too much of one. “It’s not insubordination when I ask for your opinion, Estevez. Tell me what you think.”

  The younger man looked him over, as if sizing up whether this was a test or not. Finally, he seemed to give in. “I don’t get why we’re making this so complicated, is all. With so many moving parts, something is bound to go wrong.”

  “I see. And you think letting those three roam around introduces more variables into an already complex situation.”

  “It’s not just them, it’s all of it. This operation could be done in half the time if you gave my men free rein,” Estevez said.

  “Shoot a couple of civilians on the stage? Make an example?”

  “Something like that.”

  Keefer shook his head. If the young man was going to be useful in the years ahead, he needed to be smarter. “Look around you. What do you see?”

  Estevez hesitated, clearly annoyed with Keefer’s tone. He did a cursory look over the square. “I see your plan working.”

  “Why is it working?”

  “Because everyone is calm.”

  “Exactly, because everyone is calm. These people are scared, but they also feel protected. The three people I just sent out to mingle in the crowd will reinforce that.”

  “Or they’re going to get suspicious and put a big ass dent in your calm.”

  Keefer put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “If that happens, then you’ll get your wish. Until then, we proceed as planned.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, turning to walk away.

  “And Estevez,” Keefer said, waiting until the man turned around. “All these people are Americans. They aren’t the enemy. Don’t lose sight of that.”

  Estevez nodded then marched away. As Keefer watched him go, he found himself wishing once again that it was the father instead of the son at his side. His friend Alejandro had understood how to control large groups of people. In fact, he was the one who’d taught Keefer that force only led to chaos. One day he’d taken Keefer to a slaughterhouse and made him watch how the beef cattle were moved from the farm to the kill room, carefully minimizing stress along the way. As they created their plans, they’d discussed how the Nazis loaded the Jews onto trains with the promise they were being sent to work camps where they would be clothed and housed and fed well. They were evil bastards, but the Nazis knew a few things about controlling the masses.

  Estevez was right about one thing; the operation was complicated. But, in Keefer’s mind, it was necessarily complicated. More importantly, despite its intricacy, it was working exactly as planned.

  Keefer walked toward Tent One to see how they were administering the shots. The system was perfect. Nearly five hundred people were corralled into a holding area surrounded by temporary fencing, just metal stakes pushed into the grass and connected with white bands of plastic. But it wasn’t the fence that was keeping them in. It was fear.

  There were soldiers with machine guns watching the perimeter, but the activity in the tents in front of them was all they were looking at. The lucky people who had drawn a low number in the lottery system were already being processed. They stood in two single-file lines, each leading to a booth manned by three soldiers, one zapping the barcode on the wristband and the other preparing syringes for the inoculation.

  Keefer ducked through the fencing, indicating to his protection detail that they should stay put. The people in the holding pen shifted their attention to him. One old man walked up to him and blocked his way.

  “This isn’t right,” the old man said. “Locked up here like animals.”

  Keefer’s first impulse was to correct the man—like sheep, to be exact––but he stopped himself, chastising himself for the thought. These were good Americans, not some backward people. They didn’t deserve to be here, and Keefer wanted to make sure he always remembered that.

  “I agree, sir,” Keefer said, giving the old man his full attention. “And on behalf of the Unites States government and her military, I apologize.”

  The old man’s eyes glistened. He raised his pant leg until his synthetic leg was visible. “I’ve been apologized to before. Right after friendly fire took off my leg at the hip.”

  “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Vincent Roberts, Gunnery Sergeant, United States Marine Corps. People ’round here call me old man Roberts.”

  Keefer held out his hand and they shook. “Hank Keefer, good to meet you, Gunny. Where’d you fight?” Keefer noticed people slowly gathering closer to them.

  “Jordan. Egypt. Old Jerusalem,” he said. “And other places. I was in New Jerusalem when the leg happened.”

  “Those are tough tours.”

  “I guess,” the old man Roberts said. “But I fought next to my fair share of you Army guys, so I know you’re not all assholes.”

  This brought a chuckle from the small crowd. Keefer warmed to it, and this time it wasn’t an act. This was the kind of man that deserved a better country than the one he’d been given. He deserved better leaders. And he damn well deserved a more secure place in the world.

  “Your country owes you, Gunnery Sergeant Roberts,” Keefer said, snapping a salute. “And I’m going to make certain she delivers on her promise.”

  Roberts looked surprised by the gesture. “No disrespect, Colonel, but I could give two shits about my service to the country,” old man Roberts said.

  Keefer lowered his hand, feeling his face heat up.
“I’m sure you don’t mean that.”

  “No, sir, I do,” Roberts said. “You know the old saying, How do you know if a politician is lying? It’s when his lips are moving. And to me, every military officer isn’t much better than a politician. No offense.”

  Keefer forced a smile. “And isn’t it great you live in a country where you can voice your opinion? Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

  Keefer tried to walk on, but Roberts stepped in front of him, “All I’m saying, if you really want to pay me back for my service, just get me out of here so I can see my granddaughter down in Denver tomorrow. Do that and we’ll call it square.”

  The comment took Keefer by surprise. His head was in a different place, thinking about the enormous sacrifices of American troops for three decades of war. The failure of the nation’s leaders to address the basic security needs of the homeland. The multiple and building threats to the very existence of the country he loved.

  And this man just wanted to see his granddaughter.

  Keefer looked up at the digital clock ticking down, now at an hour and thirty-five minutes, then looked the man in the eye and lied to him without even blinking.

  “You’ll see your granddaughter tomorrow, Gunnery Sergeant Roberts,” Keefer lied. “And that’s a promise.”

  25

  Cassie didn’t trust Keefer, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it. The man’s body language had told her everything she needed to know about him. He was a liar, trying his best to use their fear to manipulate the situation. She had real doubts whether anything he’d told them in their meeting was true, including how the man in the body bag had gotten himself killed.

  None of it made any sense.

  But what was worse was that everyone else seemed content to follow orders and just go with the flow. Even Rick, the one person she assumed would be demanding answers to tough questions, looked like a dazed animal caught in headlights. She just hoped the analogy ended there and that there wasn’t an immovable force about to knock them through the air all bloody and broken.