The Oort Plague

by Cliff Deane

  President Holcomb asked if it was possible to restart the cold-fusion drives and restore power.

  The COS, Simon Ward answered, “Sir, the technicians required to fire up the power plants are many, with highly specified training. We currently have no idea how many, if any, have survived. I’m sorry sir, but I don’t believe that is possible at the present time. We will, of course, begin a search for these specialists, though, even if we are successful; it will still take months to even begin the process.

  “The power grid is a fragile, complex assortment of many differing grid components that require men and computers to maintain the proper level of flow. Are there any linemen left? Where are they? Mr. President, bringing the grid back online may actually take years, even decades. Had we hardened and upgraded the grid over the last one-hundred and seventy-five years, well, maybe it would be a different story; we’ll never know.”

  “Thank you, Silas,” muttered a growingly despondent President.

  The COS said, “Mr. President, with your approval, General Henry Morse will assume the role of Chairman of the Joint Chief’s.”

  “Yes, of course,” said President Vance Holcomb. Make it happen.”

  Then turning his gaze to General Morse, Holcomb said, “General, do we have any current status on surviving military forces?” asked President Holcomb.

  “Sir,” said General Morse, “so far our information is coming in slowly. I would have to say it is spotty at best. Those that have been able to make contact have outlined a very dark picture. The upper echelon of both the Officer and NCO ranks have been decimated. Of those officers in the Field and General Grades, which are from Major to General, it looks like the majority consists of Lieutenant Colonels. Currently, only a handful of Full Colonels and no General Officers have reported for duty.

  “The NCO Corps has been hit even harder because the upper ranks tend to be older. I estimate the average enlisted survivor ranks to be the E-6 Staff Sergeants. I have ordered those surviving Officers and NCOs to begin establishing order and reorganization of a command structure.

  “The reports that have come in indicate that the fighting has been savage. Initially, the Mags took a heavy toll, until our people were able to get weapons and sufficient ammunition. In those areas with a Conelrad connection, we believe may have fared somewhat better by listening to the emergency recording recommending they arm themselves before the Mags came out of hiding.

  “Training Forts like Ft Benning apparently have the greatest number of survivors. I would guess that is due to the young men and women that were still in training. Those Forts and Bases also have the highest number of desertions, mostly from the Training Battalions. From the information gathered to date, the Mags tend to be very strong, very fast, and relentless in their attacks.

  “Ultimately, Mr. President, we do not yet have sufficient data to even begin to make estimates of our military strength. I hope to have a clearer picture of our surviving assets within the next forty-eight hours.

  “Additionally, Mr. President, once we have a better picture of our status, I would like to recommend that we reinforce Mount Weather and utilize it as an outpost for operations against the enemy. Should the appropriate resources be available, I would like to position a helicopter platoon to provide rapid deployment of forces from Fort Weather. The helos are already there, so personnel will be the deciding factor. Sir, that is all I have for now.”

  “Thank you, General,” said the President, who placed his elbows on the table and began rubbing his temples in an attempt to stave off the migraine he felt coming on. After only a few seconds, Holcomb said to his COS, “Please draw up whatever paperwork is necessary to make Hank the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Then, please prepare a list of who is onsite with any qualification for the remaining necessary positions. Let’s pare the government down a bit. Eliminate departments like HUD, Education, you know, right?”

  “Of course, Mr. President,” said the Chief of Staff. “That list is currently being fleshed out. I’ll have it to you for your approval before tomorrow’s morning brief.

  “Good. Gentlemen, we have been handed a veritable double-decker garbage sandwich. Okay, now we must begin the long road back. Everyone will coordinate through the Chief of Staff.

  “Hank, I want those projections of military strength, soonest. Once you have a picture of any given area, dispatch sufficient forces to find and secure storage warehouses, fuel storage farms, and water distribution sites. Establish a chit system for anyone living in the areas our forces have secured. Issue those chits to everyone in allotments to ensure food and transportation are covered. Make suggestions for other areas to protect and secure the populace. Reinstate local Police. Get the hospitals up and running.

  “I know, Hank, I know, the list is unending, but I have one more job for you; seek out and destroy all Mags. No prisoners, either they die, or we die. You have one huge job, General, probably the most important one of all.

  “Okay, electricity, gentlemen, I want every solar panel and residential wind turbine, not in private usage, in this country brought under our control, then begin installation first to the warehouses, then to government and military headquarters, and finally to the populace at large.

  “General, I want it understood that any military member who tries to stake a claim to his own personal kingdom, is to be shot, following a five-minute Military Tribunal. The same goes for gangs, politicians, just bad guys in general.

  “Simon; put this order in writing as a Presidential Order. We must cull those who are not in support of restoring order and improving the general welfare.”

  Looking around the table, the President asked, “Am I perfectly clear, here? No exceptions. All prisons are to be put on lockdown. No prisoners will be released into the general population. Any remaining staff will be federalized and utilized to support the local police.”

  “Sir,” interrupted the COS, “I want it perfectly understood that it is your intention to close all prisons and abandon them, with inmates locked down. Is this correct?”

  “Yes, Simon, that is correct. I will not authorize the release of any criminal element into the public domain who, even potentially, might prey upon law-abiding citizens. Most are already dead, and the rest will join the deceased in another three or four days. There will be no pardon for anyone currently confined to Federal, State, County, or City jail.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President, I apologize for my interruption, but I wanted it made clear that you, no, make that we, will not further endanger the good people that are now so desperately trying to deal with the current struggle just to survive.”

  Norman Freeman, the FEMA Director interrupted, saying, “What? Sir, you can’t do that, why it’s tantamount to murder. If we can’t take care of them, then we must set them free. It’s just not right to let them die, like, like rats.”

  “Norman,” said an irritated President, “my order stands. No prisoners will be turned out to prey on others.”

  President Holcomb then asked Admiral Harley Huxley to report on the status of both the Ocean Going and the Space Defense Force.

  “Yes, sir. Mr. President, the sea-going fleets are all running on skeleton crews. Arming the sailors was the difference between having floating hulks full of death, and, at least, minimal crews. Our Carriers are having the most difficulty as the force needed to operate them is significant. Those that were unable to make U.S. ports prior to Holly Thorne’s arrival are limping in. The question is, do we have sufficient personnel to operate even a modicum of a functioning Naval Surface Force? Honestly, sir, I just don’t know.

  “Our Submarines were all able to submerge before Holly Thorne’s arrival. We have received replies from each, and they report no infections. I have ordered them to remain submerged until we know that the pandemic has passed, and the air is clear.

  “The Space Defense Force, which departed several weeks ago, have met up with Admiral Scott King’s fleet and are still en route to the Mars Colony at Red Sands. They
report no infections and anticipate joining the Mars Colony in six days, on 9 April.”

  “Thank you, Admiral, it’s good to know we still have our subs. I suspicion our surface fleet is scragged, without sufficiently trained personnel to even perform scheduled maintenance. Admiral Huxley, once you have a hard count of personnel and their respective technical skills, please try to reopen the necessary training facilities.”

  “Yes, sir, of course,” said a despondent Admiral Huxley. “Sir, reopening the necessary schools may prove inconsequential as replacement parts, and food stores will run out with little chance of replacement.”

  “I know, Admiral, I know, but we must start somewhere, and this seems to me like square one. Getting spare parts may never come back online, but we have to try.

  “Our population may now only sport a few tens of millions, but many will migrate to the previous centers of production and our ports. They will need jobs, and we can help there.

  “I am extremely concerned about the surviving farming communities. They must be helped and supported in any way possible. We must encourage survivors to take up farming. Ultimately, only those who farm can save the nation.”

  Vance Holcomb then looked directly at Silas Creed, the Economic Advisor. He said, “Silas, I hope you just made some notes. You have made it quite clear that we have no economy, all right, then let’s get off our dead asses and get to work on a new one.”

  “FEMA,” said Vance in a rising voice, “Mr. Freeman, we need to know how many Americans have survived and what their job skills are. Let’s discover a way to answer those questions, then begin contracted relocations. I hope you caught the term contracted relocations. Norman, there will be no FEMA Camps that utilize forced labor. Anyone choosing to leave the safety of the camps will be free to do so. If I ever discover that any of your people have mistreated any American, I will have them shot, and you will be dropped off at the nearest Mag nest. Am I clear?”

  “Of course, Mr. President, but you certainly did not need to make such threats.”

  “Mr. Freeman, nothing I just said to you were threats. They were promises. Promises that I intend to keep. Simon, belay that order to ditch the Education position. I want a nominee who will get going on the three Rs, with emphasis on Trade Schools. We don’t need philosophers right now. We need workers who can produce tangible, needed products. I will not abide slave labor. If someone does not want to work, they will receive no support from us, and they will be escorted to the gate. Those who wish to rebuild their lives will have the opportunity to do so.”

  President Holcomb added, “Well, there it is. All right, I could go on for a seeming eternity, but this will do for today. I want a viable plan of action from each of you in five days, ready for you to brief at the 0900 meet-up. You all have your assignments, now let’s get to them. Simon, you and Hank remain after the meeting.”

  Once the room had been cleared, President Holcomb said, “General, I truly hope you have someone to take on the job of Anti-Mag Field Operations.”

  “Yes, sir, I do, Colonel Tom Merritt, Commanding the 175th Ranger Regiment. General Howard informed me that he is currently a survivor at Fort Benning. He is the man for the job and is on the General Officer’s promotion list. With your permission, sir, I would like to see him promoted immediately to the rank of Major General. Two stars will, most likely, make him the senior Military Officer on the surface.”

  “Good plan, I approve. Simon, make it legal for posterity. Hank, we need to get a command structure to the Mount Weather folks. There are too many Rangers twiddling their thumbs waiting for leadership. I know there are Marines closer, but I’d rather have Rangers commanding Rangers. Let’s get them into the fight.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll get with General Merritt soonest.”

  “Hank, I also promote you to General of the Army, via Presidential Order, and effective at once. I’ll bet we have some machinists who could whip up some five-star collar pins.

  “Now, General, and you too Simon, I want to drive this home to you and to everyone else; there is to be no quarter in the Mag War. Require General Merritt to hunt these Mag creatures down, hunt them down and kill them, kill them all.”

  General Henry H. Morse thanked the President and realizing he had been excused, saluted his Commander-In-Chief before departing.

  “Simon, create a force designed to find and secure all gold that is not held privately. Can you do this?”

  “Yes, Vance, but even though I don’t know exactly how we’ll go about it, I will learn and make it happen.”

  “I have no doubt about it,” said Holcomb. “I also want to quickly discuss with you that I want you to become my Vice, but right now, I need a Chief of Staff more than a VPOTUS. However, I’m sure that once things get rolling, that need will change. You okay with that?”

  “Sir, you know I have no aspirations for any job more than I have right now, but having said that, I know you are correct about the needs of reconstruction. So, yes, Mr. President, I will accept when the time is right.”

  Holcomb looked relieved as he said, “Thank you, Simon, I’m glad you understand, and that you will accept. Now, it’s time to shake a leg, come on, let’s get at it.”

  Simon smiled at his friend of fifty years before saying, “Vance, you have laid out an epic undertaking, but epic or not, it just has to happen.”

  “I know, Simon, but this is a pickle, a real sour pickle. I doubt if we’ll be back to a fully functioning government in our lifetime, but since the buck stops here, here is where we’ll start. Any questions?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Simon, “a couple of million, but I’ll need to sort them out before I hit you with them. You did well, Vance. I am proud of the way you have taken the proverbial bull by the horns, and of the course of actions to set recovery in motion, yes, sir, very proud.

  “Oh, one more thing. I intend to keep an eye on that rat bastard Freeman. He was really pissed when he left, and I have to tell you, Vance, I don’t trust him, never have. He may need replacing.”

  The President looked at his friend and said, “If he doesn’t shape up, then ship him out and sooner rather than later. He might make a good example for everyone else.”

  “Vance,” said the COS in a comforting voice, “we might fail, but we can’t quit, we won’t quit, or we’ll die first. Once the plans are in from the department heads, and the updates on our military, you and I should sit down and look at this conundrum from a micro-view.”

  “Good idea, go ahead and put it on the calendar.”

  4 April 2118,

  Biomeyer Health Fitness Center

  1525 Clifton Rd NE Fl 5, Atlanta, GA 30322

  Physical Therapist Warren and his brother Clansman, Kim, continued moving in an easterly direction, directly on a course to the Main Entrance to the new CDC, Level 5 Complex.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE GENETIC MARKER

  5 April 2118

  National Guard Armory

  Moundsville, WV

  Jake and his team took turns looking at the ten, or so, Monsters wandering the street in front of the National Guard Armory. These creatures walked upright, with no knuckle-dragging that they could see.

  Jake recorded the Mag activity, both by video and recorded notes. He thought that one of the most interesting rituals of Mag meeting Mag was the sniffing of each other’s head and neck. At times they would form packs, while other times they would simply continue their search for a closer relationship. Jake surmised that the clothing worn by the Mags might be a clue to the clan encounter and formation. He made note that on two occasions, he saw former Police Officers joining forces.

  Jake also noted that the Mags had been killing rabbits, dogs, cats, and whatever else came across their path. They were also apparently excellent hunters, though this confused Jake as to how they would so instinctively be so successful at garnering food.

  “Gale, there has to be some genetic marker or ancestral memory that allows them to be so successful in the hunt.�
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  “Yes, what else could it possibly be. Mags certainly don’t have available parents to teach them such an important skill. You know, I wonder if they are developing a hunter class derived from those Mags that were hunters when they were human.”

  “Now, that’s an interesting idea. I’ll add that thought to the notes for the CDC. And speaking of the CDC, we need to contact them before the power goes completely out. I think I’ll try the telephone in the Orderly Room. Who knows, it might still work. Maybe we’ll get some help in getting out of here,” said Jake.

  The team was gathered, and all went to the Orderly Room. Jake picked up a landline phone and was greatly pleased to hear a dial-tone. He hung the phone back up and began searching for a telephone alert tree in an attempt to contact someone from the Armory.

  “Here it is,” said an excited Ibrahim Shah, “it was under the Company Clerk’s Ink Blotter.”

  “Good job, Ham. Okay, let’s start at the top, with the Commanding Officer (CO).” Jake dialed the number for the CO and got no answer. He then went through the list of Officers but came up empty with each.

  Next came the First Sergeant who answered the phone after only one ring. “First Sergeant Israel Sanders, who is calling?”

  The Dig Team began jumping up and down in joy at the realization that contact was made with the NCO that really ran the company.

  “First Sergeant Sanders, my name is Professor Jacob Abraham. My Dig Team and I, what’s left of it, are still at the Armory. I have some information that I believe may be important to the CDC, but with no information service working, I have no idea how to get their number. Can you help?”

  “All right, the government phone book is located in the top filing cabinet drawer. It’s the one with four drawers. Do you see it?” asked the First Sergeant.

  “Yes, hold on, please. Frank, check it out.”

  Frank Lusk, Donna’s arch enemy tried to open the drawer but found the cabinet had a long metal rod reaching from a loop with a padlock attached. The rod passed through each drawer handle and ended with another loop and hook that attached it to the floor.