by Rockow, B.
“As the leader of the greatest military this world has ever seen,” Crumzchek said. “I will not kowtow to your scheme.” The Secretary of Defense stormed out of the Cabinet Room, slamming the door behind him.
“Cooler heads shall prevail,” President Angus said. “Secretary Pearl, what questions do you have for our guests?”
“It would benefit all involved if we preserve the integrity of the current paradigm,” Pearl said. “What I mean to say is, both sides will gain the most if we are able to maintain human control while still satisfying the needs of the race that is set to awaken. My questions revolve around this very point. How can the efforts of humanity, and the efforts of this race of giants, meet in optimal synergy?”
“Nicely put,” President Angus said. “Boul, Radoula, your thoughts?”
“We had faith that this meeting would reach a point of consensus,” Radoula said. “It is always better to act in unison. The problem, however, is that while we do not seek power over your specific institutions, the Orobu is ready to establish our own global administration. The human race would operate beneath us, at our command and directive. In our view, your corporations, boards, governments, universities, and organizations are stogged and small. Our race operates in complete harmony, on a fundamental, biological level. We do not have a need for tribalism.”
President Angus wrung his hands. He looked around the Cabinet Room as the most trusted members of his inner circle drew up plans to meet the needs of these giants. President Angus felt the weight of history, the entirety of human accomplishment and civilization, on his lone shoulders. Ultimately, he would be the one to authorize any plans. The fabric of human destiny was about to be shred. President Angus knew that he lived in interesting times. The struggles that humanity presented to itself were dire on their own. But everything that once seemed monumental was now trivial.
“I ask that the Secretary of Homeland Security speak now,” President Angus said. “Secretary Walhorn, you have kept mum this whole time. How do you see your organization’s role in this effort?”
Secretary Walhorn was a tall, rail thin man with bushy grey eyebrows and a pronounced widow’s peak. He was a taciturn man, given to inward contemplation. His opinion was always valued and well received. “Every prison will be a camp,” he said. “And every prisoner will be a guard. America has roughly 15,000 prisons around the country. The whole operation will run in minute compartmentalization. It will be entirely cellular. Every cell will function independently of the others. Nobody will be able to discern the tissue that binds it all together.”
“Nobody will see the wizard behind the curtain,” Secretary Pearl said. “Brilliant. There will be no room for revolt.”
“But how?” President Angus said.
“We will tightly control information,” Secretary Walhorn said. He bobbed his head up and down and twiddled his fingers. “There will be varying levels of info flow and stoppage. The men and women in this room will be the only humans on this planet who know the entire scheme.”
“Perfect, perfect, perfect,” President Angus said. “Now let us think about logistics.”
“Martial law will come first,” Secretary Walhorn said. “Precipitated by a horrific terrorist event.”
“We’ll blame it on the Chinese,” Secretary Pearl said. “There’s a generational anxiety about China that exists as an undercurrent in the American zeitgeist.”
“Let’s make it one better,” Secretary Walhorn said. “An axis of China, Russia, and Iran. But that isn’t all. There will be a fabricated rogue group added to the mix. A domestic group. A group that’s easy to vilify, and difficult for the average person to deny involvement with.”
“There are some knotty details that have to be worked out,” President Angus said. “What kind of event are we talking about here? What are we willing to risk? What will happen to international relations?”
“These are questions that will take some time to answer,” Secretary Pearl said. “For now, let us pledge our commitment. Let us take an informal vote now.” Everybody in the room raised their hands. “Great. I’m glad to see that this administration can act in unison.”
Radoula stood up. She was visibly impressed. “I did not expect this meeting to go this well,” she said. “I expected much more resistance. But I have something to add. This operation must be incredibly tight for the first few weeks. Once fully implemented, Boul and I will reveal ourselves to the world as saviors, so to speak. We will be seen as liberators. So the threat that you impose upon your population must be strong.”
“That’s right,” Boul said. “There must be a similar strategy for the other nations, as well. This is a global effort that we’re looking at.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Secretary Pearl said. “And I’ll bring President Angus with me. Once the world sees what’s happening here, they’ll follow suit. But that means we can’t compromise the integrity of other nations, even if they are enemies.”
“Very wise,” Radoula said. “Speaking of following suit, what are your plans for Secretary Crumzchek?”
“We have to take him out,” President Angus said. “He’s nothing but a risk to our operation.”
The room was in agreement. Secretary Crumzchek was not going to go down without a fight. He could assemble the finest military personnel and technology on the planet with a couple phone calls. Even the giants could see the risk in allowing Crumzchek to stage a resistance. The question hung in the room ever since he had stormed out. The President’s suggestion was also on everybody’s mind.
“On the contrary,” Secretary Walhorn said. “Crumzchek is the exact catalyst we need to solidify our objectives. He will be the face of the attack. He will be the defector. We will paint him as an enemy to domestic and international stability.”
“Brilliant,” Boul said. “And what about his generals?”
“They will be given a choice,” Secretary Pearl said. “Stick with the traitor Crumzchek, or join the loyal side. The side that wants what’s best for the United States of America and its allies.”
“Wonderful, wonderful,” Radoula said. “You are all capable leaders. I want to take this moment to express my gratitude for joining the efforts of the Orobu. You will all be duly rewarded.”
“And I want to guarantee that your power will not slip,” Boul said. “It will not falter. I see the leaders in this room taking an important role in the course of human civilization. This is not limited to your single nation. This will be a worldwide event. These decisions will ripple out in time. You are participating in a pivotal moment in history.”
President Angus salivated at the prospect of leaving a legacy. Greater leaders in history than himself had been blown away as dust in the winds of time. “Well then it’s settled,” President Angus said. “The orders are clear. We will manufacture a crisis with China, Iran, and Russia, along with demonizing Secretary Crumzchek in the process.”
The crowded room got up and started to plan the events. The stately chamber was filled with off the wall ideas meant to achieve an even crazier objective. There would be no stops. Anything was fair game, and the seasoned dignitaries in the room revelled in the creative energy generated by the implication of these schemes.
Health and Human Services Secretary Joan White had been quiet for the entire meeting. She was a mousy woman with soft, natural features. She was unmarried and thirty five years old. She wore her dishwater blond hair down in a bob cut.
“This whole thing is too much,” she said. The room ignored her at first. “There’s an obvious answer to all this. It’s so obvious.” A couple advisors paused and turned their heads. “We know the power of the biological weapon, this worm, that our esteemed guests have developed. So it’s obvious. We don’t need to blame it on the Chinese, or the Russians. We’ll infect three cities. The fear will be pandemic. That’s all we need. The people will fall right into our trap. And we’ll save face with the rest of the world.”
Secretary White had always be
en even minded and reasoned in her approach to policy. She was known by both sides of the political spectrum to be fair and balanced in her treatment of thorny issues related to domestic health and welfare. Any of her closest friends, even reaching back to her youth, would be hard pressed to tell a tale of Secretary White scheming, plotting, or conniving.
“You two have this worm,” she said to the twins. “I read it in the report. You’ve made it into an aerosol. Very easy to spread over targeted populations.”
Boul smiled. He was waiting for that detail to surface. “A fine point,” he said. “And what was your name?”
“Secretary of Health and Human Services, Joan White.”
Boul turned away from the advisors and coughed into his hands. After several hacks, he turned back around with a white worm dangling from his fingers. “This worm changes the game. This is what humanity is up against.”
Radoula nodded and pointed to the worm. “The worm is actually what feeds on human flesh,” she said. “Any soft tissue of the human body will do, but the brain is preferred. It’s been some time since the worm has been introduced to the human race.”
“It’s absolutely brilliant,” Secretary White said. She had won the attention of the Cabinet Room. Everybody hushed down. “This worm will win.”
“Tell us how it can be spread,” President Angus said.
“Your race is the worm’s natural prey,” Radoula said. “Once inside the human body, it acts as a parasite, taking control of various physical and neurological functions and faculties. The problem is that up until now, a fully mature, grown worm would have had to be physically introduced into a human orifice. They are bulky and repulsive, thus difficult to spread. The worms take years to mature. And they have to be constantly fed human tissue to grow, otherwise they die off.”
“But things have changed,” Boul said. “In the planning stage of the Orobu conquest, we worked with biopharma outfits throughout the world. One of our labs has been able to genetically engineer the worm so that it matures over the course of several hours, as opposed to several years. Further, at maturity, the worm is nothing more than a particulate. Incredibly small.”
“Aerosol,” Secretary White said. “We can spray the worm over targeted zones, as we would pesticide over a field. All people have to do is breathe.”
“It’s what we were hoping for,” Boul said. “What’s great about this new worm is that once it infects a human subject, it will quickly colonize the body. Within hours, the worms will have multiplied into the millions, feeding off the tissue of its host, ready to spread to the next vector.”
Radoula paced around the room as she spoke. “A single infection in a dense population center on day one could become ten thousand by day two. The worm wants to thrive in the human body. It incubates quickly and can be transmitted by the most minute airborne particulates. By day three the rate of infection would be three hundred thousand. By the end of the week, the entire population of the eastern seaboard could be infected.”
“We can’t risk that,” President Angus said. “I think that a biological attack on this scale would be detrimental to the posterity of human civilization.”
Secretary White furrowed her brow. She scribbled away on her notepad, ignoring the President’s rejection of her idea. “The trick here is media saturation,” she said. “We can release the worm in several stages. First, we will hit a major population center. I’m thinking New York City. We can easily manage the outbreak through strict quarantine measures. This way we can test our ability to manage a chaotic, widespread pandemic. Next, we’ll hit a sparsely populated, isolated region. Someplace cut off demographically and geographically. Once released into this isolated population, there will be an intense media presence. The whole world will do anything to avoid what they see on their screens.”
“Secretary White makes a convincing argument,” President Angus said. “As long as there’s a solid guarantee that we can contain this worm’s spread, then I’m for it.”
“How about Honolulu,” a gray haired senior advisor said. “It’d be easy to quarantine the island.”
“It’d be a little too easy,” Secretary White said. “The panic would be subdued if it was an island. The risk would be muted. We need something mainland.”
“One of the Amish communities,” another advisor said. “They’re cut off from the rest of the population. They keep to themselves. Their habitat is rural. I know of a couple communities in western Pennsylvania that could work.”
President Angus rubbed his chin. “We need something that people can identify with. We need a place where those that are tuning in can see themselves.”
“I’ve got it,” Secretary Walhorn said. He was having an eureka moment. “Bend, Oregon. There are two roads that go in, two roads that go out. To the west are mountains, impenetrable by foot, and to the east are deserts. There’s a classified military base nearby that can provide logistical support.”
“Bend, Oregon,” President Angus said. “I was there once, about ten years ago. It was a ski trip. Wonderful people out there.”
“I think we’ve got our place,” Secretary White said. She scribbled a couple more notes. “Bend, Oregon. When do we begin?”
“Within twenty four hours,” Boul said. “We can import a sample from our operational headquarters in Beijing. You must understand that this worm produces symptoms that completely alters the biology of your race. Within a short period of time a cannibalistic instinct develops. After a few weeks, the urge to eat human flesh becomes so strong that one is unable to recognize the human that the infected subject once was. Eventually, the subject is transformed into an entity that we accept as being fully Orobu. They become more than just a cannibal. They are welcomed into the fold of our race.”
Radoula interrupted. “They’re after us,” she said. The giant rubbed her temples. She looked distressed. “They’ve made their attack.”
President Angus looked concerned. “What attack? Who are you talking about?”
Radoula wouldn’t go into details. She sensed rebellion. The force was strong, and it was emanating from something new, something not quite Orobu.
“Are we all in agreement, then?” Boul asked.
“We understand the consequences,” Secretary White said. “We have all studied the dossier on the Orobu. We are prepared for assimilation.”
Radoula shook her head. “But you’ve seen nothing,” she said. “You’ll understand nothing until this curse has been unleashed.”
Chapter Fourteen
Outlaws
The two soldiers remained silent on the way to El Sagrado’s apartment. Jones thought long and hard about the sacrifices he had made for Vanessa. They got married when they were eighteen. High school sweethearts. Two years later Vanessa was pregnant with Emma Jo. Jones enlisted in the army the next day. He knew that was the only way that he could provide for his family. He couldn’t afford an education. And there was no way that he was going to work construction his whole life like his father did, only to end up a fifty year old drunk with herniated discs and arthritis.
Jones still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Emma Jo was in China. He wished that he could wrap his arms around his baby girl that very moment and give her the biggest papa bear hug she ever had. He closed his eyes and thought back to the last moments he shared with her. Standing in line at Dairy Queen, waiting for their Dilly Bars, making fun of the old couple in front of them that couldn’t hear the cashier.
Now something inside of him was changing. His head pounded with idiot pain. The taste for human flesh had become something of an obsession. Jones gritted his teeth and white knuckled the steering wheel. He was bound and determined to find his daughter, and resist the curse that had befallen him. Nothing would stop him from saving Vanessa so she could give birth to his son.
Wimpy didn’t have much to live for. He watched the streets of Los Angeles fade past him in a blur and thought about how empty his life really was. He had graduated high school
down in Fort Smith, Arkansas and worked at a paper factory for six months. He’d get drunk with his buddies and ended up messing around with the plant supervisor’s daughter. Once she spilled the beans, he was fired the next day. That afternoon he signed up for the United States Army, and hadn’t looked back since.
He loved his comrades. He knew deep down in his gut that he’d die for any of them. Wimpy looked over at Jones. The Sarge was lost in his own contemplation, chain smoking, with steel resolve building in his eyes. He admired Sergeant Jones. He was like an honorable father with a hellish mean streak. Wimpy knew that Jones would die for him if it came down to it.
“About before,” Wimpy said. “I just didn’t think we’d be shooting cops.”
Jones didn’t bat an eye. His eyes were like lasers on the road. “I don’t plan on killing any more.”
Wimpy wasn’t consoled. The choice to come out to Los Angeles and help Jones find his family just made sense to him. But the whole situation was growing darker by the hour. “How much further to Sagrado’s?”
Jones gestured his head to the right. “Just up the block here,” he said. “We’re back in the barrio, no mistake about that.”
A group of young Mexican kids stood on the sidewalk and stared down the Jeep as it slowed. An abuela walking her pet chihuahua stopped to stare, too. The whole barrio stared.
“We don’t belong around here,” he said. “I love it.”
Wimpy laughed. “Reminds me of Baghdad.”
Jones laughed with him as he brought the Jeep to a stop. “This place is a helluva lot worse.”
The two soldiers stepped out of the Jeep like they owned the barrio. They went to the back of the Jeep and slowly dragged the zombie’s limp body out. They sweated and swore as they drug him across the pot holed street and through the dry, dog shit stained grass of El Sagrado’s apartment building. Jones looked up and noticed that the apartment building was called The Pantheon.