Brushfire Plague

by R. P. Ruggiero

  From an unseen corner, flame spat with a deafening roar. Cooper felt like he’d been hit in the gut with a sledgehammer, but the body armor held up. Blood rushed to his head and the room began to swim. Absently and from a distance, he heard Dranko’s words yell “Get down!” and then the muffled sound of more gunfire.

  The sensation of something burning his arm, the sight of blood splattering across his face, and the acrid smell of cordite brought everything back into laser-like focus.

  The two guards opposite him, flanking Mitchell, sprang into action. The one on the left grabbed at his holster to draw the pistol, while the one to the right rushed to remove the M16 from his shoulder. Cooper pointed the shotgun at the one on his left, guessing he’d have his gun ready first. He had the advantage of never having slung the shotgun onto his shoulder. He merely had to raise it to waist height and fire.

  The guard bounced off the desk. Cooper was dimly aware of how shooting hurt his right arm like hell. He was further confused when the shotgun fell from his hands.

  The guard had both hands on his M16 and was bringing it to bear. Cooper dove to his left and, finding his right arm useless, grabbed his pistol out of its holster with his left. The guard’s M16 let loose a frantic burst of bullets where Cooper had been standing just a moment before. The bullets began chasing Cooper as they spit marble and dust from the floor. Cooper point shot at the guard, losing three rounds in rapid succession. Two of the three found their mark. One hit the man in the left leg and the second hit him squarely in the stomach. He slumped to the ground, dropping the rifle. Cooper finished him with a shot to the head. He scanned the room and saw a body lying in the corner, from where the original shot had come. Dranko must have got him.

  Mitchell looked like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar. The difference was he knew there could be deadly consequences for his duplicity. Cooper trained his pistol on him, remembering the flash bang grenade from the factory, “Keep your hands up!”

  Dranko was swiftly at his side, “Keep your eye on him, brother. You got winged in the right arm. This bastard had a guard hidden. I spotted him right before he fired.” Already, Dranko was digging in his backpack and wrapping a pressure bandage on Cooper’s arm.

  Cooper felt sick to his stomach, but he knew this was not solely from his wound. Mitchell’s words had turned his world upside down and his head and stomach were swirling.

  “Get me on my feet,” he hissed at Dranko. Dranko looked at him in surprise, but lifted him onto his unsteady feet. He continued bandaging his arm.

  Cooper stumbled across the few feet that separated him from Mitchell, “I hope you realize that little stunt of yours frees me from my word not to hurt you.” He jabbed the muzzle of his pistol into Mitchell’s temple. Mitchell tried unsuccessfully to cover a gulping sound with a cough.

  “If you want to have any chance of saving your skin, you’ll keep talking. Just what the hell did you mean when you said you started it all here?”

  The fear left Mitchell’s eyes and the fire returned. Only the cold steel of Cooper’s pistol restrained him from parading about the room as he talked, “Just what I said. I started this illness.”

  Dranko looked up from dressing Cooper’s wounds, “Why the hell would you do that?”

  Mitchell’s voice was so calm it sent chills down both men’s spines, “Because we had to.”

  Cooper pressed the pistol further into Mitchell’s head causing him to grimace in pain. Cooper’s words spat out from between grinding teeth, “Stop speaking in riddles. Tell it plainly.”

  “Can you remove the pistol from digging into my head? I can think more clearly that way. There’s so much to explain.”

  Dranko had finished bandaging the wound and Cooper directed him to bar the door so they could avoid any more surprises. Cooper relaxed the grip slightly. A sliver of light shone between his pistol and Mitchell’s head.

  “Thank you,” Mitchell said. “You want to know what we did? I’ll tell you. We released this virus—codenamed Reset—about two weeks ago. It was designed to spread rapidly across the world, kill quickly with as much mercy as possible, and then mutate out of its lethality.”

  Both Cooper and Dranko looked at him in shock for several seconds. “What?” was all that Cooper could finally manage.

  Mitchell looked like a schoolteacher teaching the slow class, “You wanted to know what we did here. So, I’ve told you. I’ll tell you the why and then maybe you’ll understand. We had to do this. Mankind was killing this planet with his extreme wastefulness and lack of care. You’ve heard of global warming, haven’t you?”

  Cooper responded first, “Of course.” But, Dranko was quick to follow, “Yes, I’ve heard of it. The threat has been a little exaggerated hasn’t it?”

  Mitchell’s long arm reached out, pointing a slender finger aimed right at Dranko, “You see! This is exactly why we needed to act. The threat has, if anything, been under-exaggerated. The scientists, using skepticism and caution as their religion, only released the most conservative estimates, the most proven, of the coming damage.”

  Dranko fought on, “But there were a bunch of scientists who disagreed and said there was nothing we could do about it.”

  Mitchell shook his head back and forth and looked truly morose, “You see? No, there were a handful of scientists who disagreed with the scientific consensus. But, of course you heard from them quite a bit, seeing as they were funded quite well by the likes of ExxonMobil. There are a handful of scientists who deny the existence of nearly every scientific theory. It doesn’t mean those theories aren’t accurate.”

  Cooper had grown impatient, “Yes, I get it. It’s a threat. I knew some said it could have catastrophic consequences. But, do you mean to tell us that you started this plague to stop it?”

  “That is exactly what we did. The world needed a Reset. A breather from the bustling economic activity that was belching carbon dioxide into the atmosphere at rates that would lead to runaway global warming, and a catastrophe for civilization as we know it. So, we designed this plague to do just that.”

  Cooper exploded, “What are you mad! You killed millions of people…including my wife!”

  Mitchell replied coldly, “Actually, we expect the plague and the short-term civil disorder that will follow to kill between 500 and 750 million people. Gross Domestic Product will decline 20-30% for the next two to five years and it will take a decade or more for it to reach current levels. This respite will slow rising carbon dioxide levels dramatically, as well as give the world more time to see the effects of global warming and—finally—adopt the medium and long-term measures we need to avert worldwide catastrophe. Do you see now why we had to do this? I am sorry for your wife’s death. But, her death will give your son a future he can actually survive in. Name one mother who wouldn’t make that trade?”

  Cooper looked on in exasperation at him, “Have you no faith in democracy? Yes, progress was slow, but we would have figured it out and done the right thing.”

  Mitchell scoffed and his words dripped with scorn, “Progress was slow? Progress was non-existent. Figure it out? Not in time. The democratic peoples of the world traded calamitous scientific warnings for SUVs and tons of plastic crap made in China. Worse yet, they did it without even thinking for two seconds about the choice.” As he continued, his voice rose toward crescendo, “Think about it! Ninety-nine percent of the world’s best scientists told us that if we did not lower our greenhouse gas emissions we would leave our children, and certainly our grandchildren, a planet with vastly diminished ability to support civilization. What was the answer of the most educated and free population the world has ever known? In short they said, ‘Good luck with that, I’m going shopping.’ That was what your precious democracy gave us.”

  Cooper gathered himself, “Yes, democracy is slow. But, it works. You took the easy way, the shortcut, and you took the lives of hundreds of millions of people to satisfy your cynical view of the world. The democracies—while slow�
��took on the great challenge of fascism and defeated it. We solved the crisis of the hole in the ozone layer and acid rain through democratic action. What right do you have to do what you did?”

  Mitchell’s eyes were like steel, “When you see a fire, you act. You put it out. You don’t wait for a committee to decide what to do. That is what I did. You should be thanking me.”

  Something clicked in Cooper’s mind, “Then show me. Prove to me why this would work and why it was the only way.”

  Mitchell’s eyes brightened with optimism again. He took the next ten minutes showing Cooper graphs, charts, memos, and numbers all showing just what he had told Cooper. Midway through, Cooper stopped him.

  “Hold on, pull that memo up again. Who was that one to?”

  Mitchell didn’t hesitate, “A Mr. Thomas Wilkins.”

  “Who is that?”

  “He is a strategic advisor to the President.”

  Cooper scratched his chin, “I thought I recognized his name. He was a big fundraiser during the campaign, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. Yes, he was.”

  “So, the President knew about this?” Cooper could not contain his shock.

  “Well, there is plausible deniability and all that rubbish,” he said waving his hand dismissively. “But, yes he knew. As did the major leaders in Congress and strategically placed corporate leaders. I assure you, the right people knew.” Mitchell’s pomposity irked Cooper.

  Now, it was Cooper’s turn to let out a low whistle, “Continue, please.”

  As Mitchell brought the presentation to a conclusion, Cooper handed him a flash drive that he had found lying on the desk, “Now, I want you to save all these documents and files onto this drive.”

  Mitchell’s face clouded in fear, “Whatever for?”

  Cooper smiled, “I’m going to give you a chance to be a hero, since that is what you think you are. I’m going to tell the world what you have done and you can answer directly to them.”

  He involuntarily staggered a step backward, “Don’t be silly. The world is far too emotional right now. History will judge me a hero, but not now.”

  “Well, I cannot abide lies or those who tell them. And, I have a greater faith in the American people than you do. After all, I lost my wife and I haven’t put a bullet through your brain, despite the opportunity. Maybe you’ll be as lucky with the remaining six billion people left on the planet. Now do it,” he gestured towards the flash drive with the pistol.

  Mitchell grimaced at him, but he set to work saving the files. Cooper kept a close eye on him to make sure they were, indeed, being saved. After several minutes, Mitchell tossed the flash drive to Cooper.

  “You know you will be making a huge mistake if you release those documents. You will be making a huge mistake for your son.”

  “What do you mean?” Cooper shot back.

  “You know what I mean. Right now, the plague is petering out. You’ve probably seen it for yourself. No new infections for the past 24-36, hours, right?”

  “Right. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Already, for some the plague is now no more lethal than the common flu. In a few days, it will be like that for everyone as it mutates to its less lethal stage. Yet, society around the world teeters on the edge. If you release the information you have, you will send it over the brink, at least here in America. Think about it, all of society’s major institutions colluding in this great scourge? The rioting you’ve seen so far will look like child’s play. Not to mention what the rest of the world might do to America for unleashing a Weapon of Mass Destruction that has hit every country around the world,” Mitchell finished with a satisfied smile on his face.

  The truth of his words burned in Cooper’s gut. He knew he was right. Mitchell saw the look on his face and seized the opening, “You don’t want your boy, to grow up in that America, do you? I’ve given him a chance at a decent life…and his children’s children…don’t steal that away from him for some hollow sense of revenge.”

  “It’s not revenge, it’s justice. The truth must come out because lies do nothing but destroy everything they touch.” He paused for a moment, contemplating. “You said America, eh?”

  Mitchell waited before responding, warily, “Yeah, America.”

  “You invoke a powerful word, Mr. Mitchell. You remind me of something. You, sir, gave up on America. You gave up on our democracy and decided to take matters into your own hands.”

  “I had to,” Mitchell pleaded.

  “Well, then. If you gave up on America, then you gave up on juries and the right to trial as well, didn’t you?”

  Mitchell’s face recoiled in horror. He raised his hands in front of his face, “No! Let me explain!” His voice screeched as thin as a razor.

  Cooper calmly raised his pistol and pointed it directly at Mitchell’s head, “I’ve had enough of your explaining.” He fired once, the bullet piercing Mitchell’s forehead and exploding blood and gore out the back of his head. His body dropped to the floor. Cooper stepped over him and fired twice more, once into the heart and another into his head. Looking down at the prostrate body of the once powerful man, he felt nothing but pity.

  Then, Cooper strode out of the room, shotgun at the ready, and Dranko following close behind.

  They made it to the car without incident and were grateful to find Angela there, waiting for them, hiding in nearby bushes, pistol in hand.

  They drove toward home in silence, but Cooper could not help noticing that several more sections of the city had gone dark from lack of electricity.

  Minutes later he stirred, “We have one more stop tonight.” Dranko could guess.

  Angela couldn’t. “Where?”

  “Julianne Wheeler’s,” Cooper said.

  Chapter 34

  When they arrived near her home, Cooper insisted that Dranko and Angela remain behind. Their protests were stifled by the fire in his eyes. He departed, wide strides bringing him to her home.

  A candle burned inside, its faint light reaching the front door. Cooper covered the porch stairs in two giant leaps. He hammered on the door. In the night’s silence, the violence echoed down the street.

  He peered into the home through the door’s glass, just as Julianne came into view from the hallway. He immediately saw the glint of a stainless steel revolver in her hand. Her eyes flew wide open when she saw him. She stopped for a moment, looking at him. He glared right through her.

  Then, her weary, red eyes fell. Resigned, shoulders slumped, she shuffled towards the door. She set the revolver down on the entry table and opened the door.

  As soon as the lock fell open, Cooper pushed his way in. She winced as he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her, “Why?”

  Tears darkened her flannel shirt. She remained mute.

  “Why,” Cooper pleaded again. He rocked her back a half-step, forcing her head up. She collapsed to the ground. He knelt with her, grasping her chin between his fingers. She inhaled deeply. Her vulnerability sapped his anger.

  “Mitchell’s dead,” he rasped.

  She nodded slowly, “I guessed as much.” Her words were unfeeling.

  He waited. Her breathing steadied.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Cooper remained motionless. But, his eyes revealed his desperate plea for an explanation.

  “I thought it was the best thing. The right thing. He was so damned convincing. The science was…is…compelling. We were running out of time. You’ve got to believe that!” Her eyes flashed back and forth, scanning for his reaction.

  He said nothing. He looked blankly at her. His emotion drained away.

  He despised the rising urge inside that beckoned him to reach out and comfort her.

  She lowered her head, “We were wrong. We should have let it happen. We should have let mankind live through the consequences,” she paused, her fingers tracing an outline around one of her bruises, “of its own making. Not ours.” When she finished, she looked back up at him.r />
  When their eyes met, he was drawn towards her, despite himself. He clapped his hands on his knees and stood up abruptly.

  “You must hate me,” she lamented.

  He paused, contemplating her words. “No. I don’t. I saw the best man I’ve ever known, my father, be misled by someone he trusted. So, I don’t blame you for that. But, its worse than that,” he looked down again at her.

  “What’s worse?”

  “I cannot hate you.”

  “Even though you want to?” She asked, her eyes pleading for understanding.

  His face betrayed nothing. He turned and walked away.

  She watched him go. A hint of a smile alighted onto her face as she pondered his last words. Then, anguish overtook her once more. She collapsed into herself, weeping.

  When he returned to the car, Dranko and Angela looked up at him expectantly. Cooper lurched into the car wordlessly. Neither asked. Dranko did not smell fresh cordite coming from Cooper’s pistol. He was surprised, but did not ask his friend any questions about it.

  Silence consumed the car as they drove towards home.

  ******

  A few blocks from their home, Dranko broke the silence. “You think the military will be waiting for us?”

  Cooper roused from his stupor, “I’d be surprised. They sent a squad at us earlier and that didn’t work. He’s low on manpower. The city’s in chaos. He’s got a lot of problems. If he had extra men, I think we would have seen them at Mitchell’s. He doesn’t have a platoon to send our way.”

  Dranko nodded, “True. But, next week may be a different story. He may get more men. He may…”

  Cooper raised his hand dismissively, “Not now.”

  Dranko stopped and smiled to himself, “Sure, brother. Not now.”

  ******

  When he returned home, Lisa met him at the door with open arms and excitedly told him that Jake’s fever had broken. She was confident he would soon recover. Cooper collapsed onto his knees from sheer joy. Tears streamed down his face unabashedly. Minutes later, he looked in on Jake, but he was fast asleep. He watched him for a while, kissed him on the forehead, and quietly left the room. He knew had one more thing to do this night.