by Joe Nobody
“Good morning, Captain,” the colonel greeted. “I take it you didn’t sleep well last night.”
“No, sir, I didn’t. But I have made a determination. No offense, sir, but I’ve had enough of the military lifestyle. I’ll be honest, my commitment to your cause would be half-hearted. After what the Army did to me, I can understand your position, but I still don’t believe unreservedly in what you’re doing.”
Taylor nodded, seeming to accept Norse’s words. “I appreciate honesty in a man, Captain… or should I say, Mr. Norse. If your heart’s not in it, I don’t want you with my men. The doctor will steer you toward another job. Best of luck.”
And with that, the colonel left, leaving a yawning Norse and Elissa alone.
“So, ex-warrior, what else can you do besides drive a tank?” she smiled.
“You seem awfully pleased that I haven’t swallowed your pitch - hook, line, and sinker,” he observed.
Her eyes dropped to the floor at his statement, Norse thinking he’d said something wrong. When she finally looked up, her words made the reaction all too clear. “I’m starting to care about you, Shane, and I’ve lost enough people who were close to me. The fact that you’ve decided not to go gallivanting around, playing soldier with the colonel means you’ll be safe somewhere else. I like that.”
Relieved, Shane’s grin filled his face. “So, what other type of work is there available? I do want to pull my own weight.”
“What do you like to do?”
Putting a finger to his chin, Norse pretended to ponder the question long and hard. Acting like he had been struck with eureka-type inspiration, he announced, “I’d like to work here with you!”
Expecting only a polite laugh and quick dismissal, Elissa’s reaction surprised him. “Hmmm. We do have some openings in records. Are you an organized person?”
Norse’s back stiffened to attention, “Ma’am! I am a graduate of the West Point Military Academy, ma’am! I am one of the most organized bastards you’ll ever lay eyes on, ma’am!”
Elissa snorted, trying desperately to contain her laughter. She lost the fight.
After they both had settled down, the doctor examined her desk and found a piece of paper stored there. “Yes… yes, we have a spot open in records. You’ll be in charge of filing test results, patient profiles, and other assorted data generated by our operation. Do you want the job?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good,” Elissa beamed. “Your office will be right across the hall. Come on, I’ll show you to your new slave quarters. And remember, I’m your worst nightmare as a boss.”
Chapter 7
Shane’s days were essentially divided into two different worlds. In the mornings, he reported for work and kept himself busy until lunch, which he almost always spent with Elissa. Relishing their time together was the highlight of his day, the pair soon forming a bond unlike anything either had ever felt for another person.
For the first time in his life, the captain found the carefree, low-stress lifestyle refreshing. Not only did he not miss the burden of command and the ritual of military life, he experienced a sense of gratification from working in the medical field. He was helping others, even if it were in a non-direct way.
His daily joy, however, was soon displaced by the late afternoon, daily status meetings. Elissa was required to join all of the scheduled sessions, most of the conferences attended by various members of the board, including Colonel Taylor.
Filled with status updates, facts and figures, and the general progress of the Gulf Republic’s strategy to change the world, Shane often found himself deeply saddened by the bedlam unleashed by the people surrounding him. For Elissa’s sake, he kept his feelings to himself.
The virus, it seemed, wasn’t the primary cause of the planet’s initial woes – human nature firmly accepting the crown of chaos and disruption before Ebola-B could sink its deadly teeth into the population.
As the board monitored newscasts from around the world, the scenes were horrifying to Norse. Fueled by desperation and a sense of having little to lose, old enemies seized the opportunity to take out their frustrations on each other. Militaries, all over the planet, were marshaling at best, waging outright war at worst.
Armed protestors, violent rallies, marches, and complete anarchy also dominated the headlines. As Norse sat silently and watched, it dawned on him that the entire species of man was tearing itself apart.
Shane took it all in without comment, each afternoon tribunal filling his soul with deep, bitter remorse.
The situation was worsened by the reaction of the people around him. There seemed to be an air of celebration as the residents of Houston watched society drop off the cliff. Images that made Shane melancholy and depressed seemed to lighten the mood of his neighbors. It was almost as if everyone were savoring some sort of high school-ish orgy of revenge.
When the torturous briefings were concluded, Elissa and he would spend their evenings together, her company allowing him to unwind and get back to loving life. It was a difficult dichotomy to handle.
As the reports of the first deaths attributed to the virus first came in, the population of the Gulf Republic wanted to party. The atmosphere reminded Shane of tailgating before a major football game. He found the entire reaction sickening.
His discomfort was further enhanced when one of the broadcasts showed images of his old unit, the emblem of the 7th Cav clearly displayed on the shoulder of Ebola-B’s first military victim. According to the report, the virus was conducting a full-blown assault on several divisions within the U.S. Army. Shane’s heart sank into his stomach.
Ad hoc gatherings appeared out of nowhere, thousands of people grouping together to share food and stories, and comment on the payback their tiny country had delivered to the bullies of the world. It was all too much for the ex-soldier.
Elissa wanted to participate, but understood his hesitation. “I’m going to head on back to the apartment,” he stated. “You go ahead and enjoy the festivities, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
As he trudged home, it occurred to Norse that he’d left his briefcase at the lab. That wasn’t especially troubling, the detour taking him only a few blocks out of his way. The extra steps in the fresh air would help to clear his head.
He entered the building, passing the bored security personnel who barely bothered to check his badge. As he approached his cubicle, he thought he heard a noise in Elissa’s lab.
He entered the normally-locked area, finding everything where it should be. As he looked around for the source of the disturbance, he noticed a set of stainless steel, pressurized tubes sitting on the counter. Purely curious, he sauntered over and examined the sophisticated looking storage devices.
Picking up one of the containers, he read the label and then the associated paperwork sitting nearby on the counter. “So that’s what the secret sauce looks like,” he whispered. “I’ve been here almost a week, and this is the first time I’ve seen the actual vaccine.”
As Shane set the sturdy container down, it occurred to him that the future of the entire planet was in his hand. Not only was the primary vaccine present, another tube claimed to hold the booster. The papers clearly documented the process used to create the serums.
“Funny, you don’t look like the most important discovery in the history of mankind,” he said to the tube. The irony wasn’t lost on Norse – he was holding the most valuable item ever created.
Vast fortunes would be paid if he wanted to sell the container in his hand. Untold riches could be his.
Shane’s mind replayed the last outside newscast he’d just seen, his thoughts wandering back to the men he had commanded, their families and relatives.
And then an idea occurred to the troubled soul. He could fix all of this – it was within his power to make a change.
Lieutenant Thompson scanned his new operational orders, a pained expression forming on his face. “Sir, I need a clarification on these patrol instructions.
”
“What’s the problem, LT? I think it’s clear enough. Instead of maintaining a fixed position on the wall, your unit is hereby ordered to conduct a moving patrol covering exits 4 through 6. Pretend you’re running a NASCAR race, Thompson. Just go out and run ‘Bama Thunder around in a loop,” replied the frustrated Major.
“Yes, sir, I get that part. But what is to keep Skinnies from sneaking over the wall behind our backs? There’s no way we can maintain a two-mile perimeter with one tank.”
For a moment, Thompson thought he was going to get his ass chewed. Since Ebola-B had made its way outside of the quarantine, all of the senior officers had displayed short tempers. Instead, his new commanding officer exhaled audibly and then softened his voice to a low whisper. “Lieutenant, over 30% of our people are either in the hospital tents with symptoms of Ebola-B, on emergency leave back home to take care of sick family, or have deserted. We no longer have the capacity to maintain the wall using previous methods.”
Thompson was only mildly surprised, the scuttlebutt and rumors had been circulating for the last two days. “Yes, sir. How bad is it across the country?”
The senior officer was reluctant, clearly unsure of what, or how much to tell his charge. Finally, almost as if relieved to have someone to talk to, he confessed. “Not good, Thompson… not good at all. I overheard a conversation at division yesterday that just scared the shit out of me. So far, there are over 20 million confirmed cases, and that’s just what the feds are admitting to. I would surmise the number is a lot higher and growing by the minute. This damn bug is all over the place and spreading quickly.”
“Oh fuck,” replied the younger man. “So fast?”
“Yes, so fast. People haven’t started dying yet, but that will come soon. There have already been food riots all over the planet. There have been violent upheavals and social unrest in every country. India nuked Islamabad and three other Pakistani cities yesterday. Russia and China are marshaling huge armies along their common border. North Korea sent 10,000 tanks south toward Seoul; no word on how our guys and the South Korean forces are holding up. The world has gone absolutely insane.”
“Then what are we still doing here, sir? I sure would like to get back to Fort Hood and be with my family.”
“That’s a good question, son. I know how you feel, but there’s still talk of our sending forces inside the wall to see if we can retrieve the cure… or some formula… or something that will bail us out of this mess. I even heard a rumor that Delta was being brought in from Fort Bragg. There’s speculation they will be inserted for a black op to obtain the serum.”
Thompson shook his head, “The people running the show inside that wall been one step ahead of us all the way, Major. They’ll be ready for that.”
“I agree, Lieutenant, but all that is above our pay grade. For right now, we follow orders and do what we can. You just focus on doing your job and keeping your men safe. That’s the best I can offer. Dismissed.”
The junior officer saluted smartly and then walked away, barely managing to keep his emotions in check. All of a sudden, his problems seemed so miniscule compared to what was going on out in the world. He thought about his parents and siblings, wondering how they were doing. Grim images began to fill his mind – visions of his sister and mother wallowing in their own blood and puke, suffering horrendous pain while slowly dying.
Eventually his training kicked in, forcing him to push aside personal and planetary concerns. He sucked it up, putting on a good face for his crew. No sense worrying them, he thought. There’s not shit any of us can do. Do the job. Just do the job, he kept repeating.
It wasn’t going to be easy. Not only was Thunder short a crewman, now his area of responsibility was nearly ten times larger than before.
The men were lined up next to the hulking outline of Thunder, assembled for the now-mandatory fever check. Witnessed by the commanding officer, each crewman was required to use a thermometer before leaving on patrol.
One by one, Thompson watched his men insert the device in their ears and depress the button. After a few seconds, a beep would sound, followed by the lieutenant checking the digital display.
“Shit, Gomez, you’re running 99.3,” the officer observed. “Take it again.”
The entire crew watched as Thunder’s gunner repeated the process.
“You’ve got a fever, Sergeant. You feeling okay?”
“Yes, sir, I feel fine. Please don’t make me report to the hospital, sir. Rumors are going around that everybody that shows up over there ends up with the virus. I feel fine, sir. Really I do.”
Thompson weighed his options. On one hand, his orders were clear – anyone with a fever was to report sick. On the other hand, his company barely had enough units as it were. And there was no way they could operate the tank with only two crewman.
“You sure?” he asked the anxious soldier.
“Yes, sir. I always run a little hot… have since I was a kid. I feel up to snuff, sir.”
Thunder’s commander reached a decision. “Okay, mount up, ladies. We have to be on station in 10 minutes.”
Thompson forgot all about Gomez’s fever, concentrating on what was essentially a new routine. The time seemed to pass quickly, Thunder slowly rolling down the smooth highway pavement, turning left, and then repeating the route all over again.
They had been touring the racetrack for several hours when Gomez spoke up. “Sir… sir… I’m going to puke,” came the frightened voice.
Thompson looked down, noticing the beads of perspiration covering his gunner’s face. “Get a barf bag, tanker. Then I want a readout on your fever,” he ordered.
“I’m fine, sir, just an upset stomach.”
“Do it,” Thompson ordered, his own gut beginning to hurt as well. He had been sharing Gomez’s air for the last four hours. “Take your temperature, soldier. That’s an order.”
Thompson was feeling the vice-like pressure of command. He didn’t have to wait long for Gomez’s report.
“It says 102, sir. I’m… I’m sorry, LT. Oh gawd, what have I done?”
Without a second thought, the lieutenant reached for Thunder’s radio controls. “Traffic… This is Five.”
“Go ahead, Five.”
“I’ve got a man with a fever and nausea. Requesting immediate relief,” Thompson announced calmly into the microphone.
“Negative on relief, LT. The bench is empty. Stay at your post until relieved. I’ll do the best I can.”
“Shit!” Thompson hissed, now sure every member of his crew was infected.
They continued to patrol, Thompson keeping an eye on Gomez who seemed to be struggling to stay awake. On the next lap, he spotted something unusual in the road… something that hadn’t been there before. Thunder approached cautiously, the memories of Havoc’s demise still fresh in everyone’s mind.
They came upon a common, roadside emergency flare, the bright pulsing light sending eerie shadows across the pavement. The lieutenant was leery, scanning right and left for the potential ambush, using all of Thunder’s tools to make sure the surrounding area didn’t harbor a trap.
Rolling closer, it soon became clear that a large sign had been propped up in the center of the road, neatly scrawled black letters covering the white background. About three feet square, and leaning against a chunk of wood, it read; “Thompson, if you want the cure, stop and talk to me. Norse.”
“What the hell,” Thunder’s commander mumbled, not sure what to make of the offer. Was Captain Norse still alive? Was this just some sort of trick?
While their CO pondered the sign, the men inside Thunder remained busy, scanning the roadside for any hint of treachery.
“Contact, sir, 101 meters distant, appears to be a single individual.”
The LT swung his periscope, quickly zeroing in on the lone man standing in the open. As the gunner had stated, he was exactly one meter outside the buffer zone, standing at ease.
Switching to infrared, Thunder’s c
ommander instantly recognized Captain Norse.
Seeing his former commander alive generated a flush of mixed emotions within Thunder’s basket of men. On one hand, everyone was glad to see a former comrade still breathing. Even beyond that, word of Norse’s gunpoint exile into the quarantine zone had not set well in the barracks. Every man in the company could see themselves in the captain’s boots, most considering such a fate worse than death.
But now Thunder’s boss had a quandary on his hands. Norse might be alive, but was committing an act of treason by asking them to violate protocol. The word “cure,” still visible on the hand-lettered sign, kept rolling around in Thompson’s head.
“Activating the 50,” he stated, reaching for the machine gun’s controls. “Initializing commander’s remote control.”
Thompson almost shot Norse out of pure anger and frustration. No doubt they were all infected now. It took every ounce of his fortitude to keep from wallowing in self-pity. Reaching deep inside his being, the young officer eventually realized that he should only be irate at himself. He’d violated the rules. He’d let Gomez enter the tank. Again, the word “cure” surfaced in his thoughts.
“Unsealing the tank,” Thompson announced, surprising both of his crewmen. A moment later, he was lifting his leg onto Thunder’s deck.
After climbing down from his armored ride, the LT walked to the edge of the road and cupped his hands. “Is that you, Captain?”
“It is,” came the distant reply. “Roll Tide!”
Despite the stress and anxiety, Thompson had to laugh. “How are you, sir?”
“I’m well, Lieutenant,” Norse yelled back. “Is it okay if I come a little closer?”
“Sure, Captain. We won’t shoot.”
After Norse was within 25 feet, he stopped. “So here’s the deal. I know this virus is kicking ass. Even the mighty 7th Cav is suffering badly. We also know that the governments of the world aren’t going to agree to surrender. After it’s all said and done, a certain percentage of the population will survive, but what will be left after that? The Stone Age? Cavemen? The people I’m with now are preparing for that phase, but I strongly disagree with the program over here.”