Pandemic: Quietus: A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Fiction Series (The Pandemic Series Book 4)

by Bobby Akart

  In a surprise attack, ISIS operatives successfully engaged the nighttime sentries and overwhelmed them at the gate. Jihadists detonated two suicide bomb vests in the barracks, killing forty-six soldiers and severely injuring the rest.

  According to the survivors, as many as thirty terrorists entered the base and commandeered six 900 Series five-ton trucks, three medium tactical vehicles and a variety of shoulder-fired missiles, including a dozen RPG-7s seized by the U.S. military in the Syrian Civil War. Despite a heated gun battle with the uninjured twenty soldiers who engaged them, the terrorists managed to escape into the night relatively unscathed.

  The President was furious with General Keef, who attempted to defend the military’s inability to take the fight to the enemy due to the risk of contracting the plague while outside their respective bases.

  “Mr. President, we want to hunt the vermin down and make them pay for what they’ve done to our country,” said a standing General Keef before she left the conference room. “In the process, we could lose more of our people to the disease, both while they are in the field and when they return to their families on the base.”

  “General, if we can’t hunt them down, can we at least secure our facilities across the country?” asked Morse.

  “Sir, I’ve raised this issue previously,” replied Keef somewhat condescendingly. “While the jihadists are willing to expose themselves to the disease because they do not fear dying, our personnel are hiding behind fences and walls, sitting ducks to their attacks. Mr. President, just like our country’s decision to hunt radical Islamic terrorists on their turf following the attacks of 9/11, they have chosen to bring the fight to us, using the pandemic as cover. The only way to defeat this enemy is to unleash the wrath of our military, but we can’t do that unless we can insure their safety from the disease.”

  “Thank you, General,” said President Garcia. “That’s all for now.”

  General Keef exited the conference room and the President watched her march down the walkway overlooking the operations center.

  “She’s right, you know,” said Morse, breaking the silence. “She wants to let the dogs out, but the risk of contracting the disease is too great. Once we deploy troops from the protection of our bases, we may not be able to let them back in.”

  The President swung around and slammed the top of the conference table with his hand. “We’ve got the cure. Why can’t we use it to heal our people if they contract the disease?”

  “Mr. President, they’ve only been working on it for a couple of—”

  President Garcia dropped himself into a chair at the head of the table, causing it to partially tilt backwards. He had gained weight since he’d stopped drinking, opting instead for comfort foods in the form of sweets.

  “Tell them to pick up the pace,” he demanded. “Besides, I thought our great Dr. Hagan had already determined the formula. What’s the holdup?”

  “Sir, my understanding from Spielman is that the formula needs to be tested on various subjects, including monkeys, and then hu—”

  The President was frustrated. “Andrew, didn’t she represent to us this vanco—um, whatever it is. This drug, does it work or not?”

  “Yes, sir. According to Spielman, the drug should work, but they know nothing of side effects and the usual concerns about interaction with other medications. He says he needs—”

  “Andrew, are you kidding me?” The President was shouting now, his temper returning from his old days of drinking. “Sit down and listen to me carefully. We have the ability to save every diseased American on our soil. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna allow these terrorists to kill the remaining survivors using, let me emphasize, our own weapons!”

  “Sir, I can contact Spielman about expediting production, but it goes against our prior directives to develop the vancomycin slowly.”

  “Andrew, we don’t have to slow walk the production for our own people. We need to hide it from the rest of the world until we can set our plans in place. But first, we have to defend Americans and keep them safe or they’ll lose confidence in yours truly. I’ve still got one eye firmly affixed to the big prize—making America the world’s only economic and military superpower.”

  “Mr. President, I’ll set up a conference call with Spielman and Hagan for tomorrow morning. Would you like to participate?”

  The President started laughing. “No, Andrew, of course not. Have you forgotten the first maxim of politics—plausible deniability?”

  Chapter 55

  Day Ninety-Four

  The Den

  Denver

  Mac had always been driven. Throughout her career at the CDC, she was never one to seek attention or accolades. Her self-worth was based upon preventing the spread of, and the fighting of, infectious diseases. Her work ethic had been noticed by those around her and she was quickly labeled as a loner in the lab. During those final weeks in Atlanta when Donald Baggett hovered over her, watching her activities, she’d kept to herself, confiding only in Janie.

  Only a handful of people at the Den knew of her approach to tackling a problem. In those first few days, Mac was labeled as standoffish and even rude. At first, old acquaintances like Sandra Wilkinson and Michelle Watson defended her demeanor. With each passing day, Mac’s paranoia overtook her and she kept her distance from them as well.

  She spent every waking hour in the lab, testing the mice and the newly introduced primates captured at the Denver Zoo. Her formula for the vancomycin d-ala d-lac had remained the same because it was too early to consider adjustments. The CDC rushed her BALO vaccine upon the public at the President’s insistence and it was a failure. This time, armed with her clinical notes from a successful test patient, her father, Mac intended to get it right.

  Mac was in the lab early this morning, long before the Den’s big-brother PA system issued its wake-up call over the loudspeakers. The human body adapted itself to sunrises and sunsets. When underground, the body lost touch with the natural sleep cycle. In just a few days, she’d become a morning person and didn’t know it.

  She was making some notes on the charts of the newly infected primates when Dr. Spielman tapped on the window to the BSL-4 to get Mac’s attention. He mouthed the words my office now and pointed toward the other side of the circular facility.

  Mac immediately felt apprehensive. She couldn’t recall a single time in her life when she’d felt more insecure and paranoid. Her career revolved around handling deadly, incurable diseases, but she approached every risk with caution and comfort in knowing she could protect herself by following the proper protocols.

  She was in a different world now and she was alone. She constantly reminded herself that no one knew where she was and she had no ability to reach out to them. Her mother was unavailable for counsel and her father’s jokes couldn’t lift her spirits on a bad day.

  And then there was Hunter. She’d never known love before and she’d finally opened herself up to the prospect when the perfect man came along. She missed his touch and his friendship. As she went throughout the decontamination process, she resolved to raise the issue with Dr. Spielman. She was prepared to demand access to her family.

  Mac approached the entrance to Dr. Spielman’s office, fully resolved to fight for time outside the Den. However, the conversation never got that far.

  “Mac, come in and shut the door, please,” ordered Dr. Spielman. He checked his watch. “Take a seat.”

  “What is it, Dr. Spielman?”

  He held his hand up to stop her from talking. Then his phone began to ring. He pressed the speaker button and answered.

  “Good morning, this is Tom Spielman.”

  “Please hold for Mr. Morse,” announced a female voice on the other end of the line.

  Mac’s eyes widened as she heard those words. Dr. Spielman returned her surprised look and shrugged.

  “Tom,” said Morse, “do you have Dr. Hagan with you as well?”

  “I do, sir. We’re ready.”

  �
��I’ll get right to the point,” said Morse. “We need to accelerate the manufacture and distribution of the cure created by Dr. Hagan. The National Guard is making arrangements now to take control of a local drug manufacturing facility and make it available for your use. Questions?”

  “Andrew, there are considerations we haven’t discussed when it comes to mass production of the drug. Currently, we have our chemists reviewing Dr. Hagan’s compound and her clinical notes. We’re not prepared to declare the drug reproducible or stable based upon our limited confirmation of her research.”

  “Hagan, does your drug work or not?” asked Morse.

  “Well, yes, sir, it did work on my father, our dog, and the laboratory mice at my disposal,” she replied.

  “Then I don’t understand what the problem is,” he added.

  Mac hesitated and took a deep breath. “May I speak frankly?”

  “Young lady, it appears you know no other way. Go ahead.”

  Mac gulped. I guess I deserved that. “Mr. Morse, I am almost one hundred percent certain that the vancomycin formula will be successful. There are still many trials to run on the primates and then human test subjects.”

  “Run them, but chop-chop about it.”

  “Well, sir, I don’t want a repeat of the failed BALO experiment. That option should have been tested before being used on human patients.”

  Morse cleared his throat. “Hagan, we’ll take the blame on that one. We sought a politically expedient solution and it was a risky move. This is different. I need to have your assurances the new drug is capable of performing. People’s lives will be put at risk based on your answer.”

  “Well, sir, not to be difficult, but the people to be inoculated with the vancomycin drug will have to be in the infectious and near symptomatic stage of the disease. In other words, their lives will be at risk before they receive the vancomycin injection.”

  The microphone went silent, prompting Mac to whisper to Dr. Spielman, “Did he hang up on us?” Half a minute passed before Morse returned to the line.

  “Tom, our initial policy regarding distribution of this new drug has not changed. I respect Hagan’s concerns about prematurely introducing this proposed cure to the public. For that reason, we will only distribute the final, approved drug to our military and their dependents after they sign a waiver. In essence, we’ll test it on our own until we’re satisfied that it should be available for wider distribution.”

  Mac wasn’t expecting this. Her only reason for raising the issue about the viability of the vancomycin compound was to remind everyone the drug was new and untested. She’d come to the Den with the intention of creating a cure for all of infected humanity, not the government’s chosen few who already enjoyed the protection of the military behind the fences and protective perimeters of their safe zones.

  Lest we forget, there are sick human beings around the planet. Are we gonna let them die?

  “But, Mr. Morse, the vancomycin is intended to help the plague-stricken people on the streets. I don’t see how it is needed for the disease-free populations within—”

  “Dr. Hagan,” the chief of staff barked into the speakerphone, “there are a number of factors in play here that are beyond the scope of your duties. Your job is to produce this drug. This administration’s job is to distribute the drug in the best interest of our great country. Can you do your job? We can certainly do ours.”

  Mac bristled at his harsh attitude towards her. She slowly closed her eyes and suppressed her anger. Morse’s outburst reminded her of why she didn’t like him.

  Dr. Spielman sensed Mac’s frustration, so he took over the remainder of the call. “Andrew, we’re here to serve the American people and will follow your instructions. We have some logistics to work out, and I can assure you, Dr. Hagan and myself will be on the same page.”

  “Good. Do you agree, Dr. Hagan?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Mac through gritted teeth.

  “Tom,” started Morse, “I’ll send over the details on the Upsher-Smith Laboratories facility for your perusal. We are in the process of having the National Guard secure the facility and a one-block perimeter for safety reasons. We don’t want a repeat of Atlanta.”

  “Thank you,” said Dr. Spielman. “Will you have an equipment list available as well?”

  “It will be on its way to you shortly,” replied Morse. “Please review this with Dr. Hagan and let me know what other materials or equipment you’ll need to create one hundred thousand doses of the vaccine.”

  “Mr. Morse, let me be clear about something so there is no confusion here,” interrupted Mac. “This is not a vaccine in the sense it acts as a preventative medication to stop a person from becoming infected. The vancomycin compound is a cure, designed to treat someone already exposed to the plague bacterium. The patient must test positive for the disease in order for the vancomycin to be effective against it.”

  The silence returned to the speakerphone. Mac waited patiently for the Chief of Staff to return. Is the President in the room too? Why isn’t he participating in the phone call?

  “At what point must the diseased patient be in the timeline before the vancomycin can be effective?” asked Morse.

  “I don’t know. I’ve only used it on my father and he was in the third day of being symptomatic. Had I waited one more day, he would have suffered organ failure and died.”

  “Are you saying a patient has to be on the brink of death before you can administer the drug?” he asked.

  “Sir, all I’m saying is we don’t know until we test it further,” replied Mac.

  The silence returned. Mac attempted to whisper to Dr. Spielman, but he shook his head and raised a finger to his pursed lips. Morse came back for one final statement.

  “I want you to move forward, Tom. I also want you to provide us a detailed memorandum of the disease’s timeline, including a day-by-day symptoms tracker. Hagan, I want you to formulate your best guess as to the earliest and latest points in time during the disease’s progression that your new drug will be effective.”

  “My best guess, Mr. Morse?” she asked.

  “That’s what I said. Now, get to work.”

  The call was over.

  Chapter 56

  Day Ninety-Five

  The Den

  Denver

  Mac was on her way to a 9:00 a.m. meeting with Dr. Spielman to discuss the mass production of the vancomycin da-ala d-lac. She had produced vials of the compound in her lab at Quandary Peak, but she’d never been involved in the manufacturing and distribution of a medication on this level. After their teleconference with the Chief of Staff the day before, Dr. Spielman had dismissed her from his office and she went about her day. She preferred to stay busy to keep her mind off Hunter and her family, but as she worked, certain statements made by Morse and Dr. Spielman stuck in her mind.

  Not that he was required to do so, but Morse never provided an explanation for skipping the testing process and jumping straight into production. By doing so, they ran the risk of a public health debacle like the rollout of the BALO vaccine.

  Dr. Spielman seemed genuinely surprised at the advanced timetable for the manufacturing of the drug. During his back and forth with Morse, Mac got the distinct impression that the President’s previous policy was to move slowly with the vancomycin’s development. Now, they were full-speed ahead but only for distribution to those already protected by security and, therefore, uninfected. It just didn’t add up.

  “Good morning, Dr. Spielman,” announced Mac after tapping on his door. “I brought an extra coffee if you’d like it.”

  “Yes, please. Thank you, Mac.” He gestured for her to sit down.

  “You look tired, sir,” said Mac. “Are you worried about the President’s directive?”

  “Sort of. He wasn’t on the line with us, but Morse speaks for him. I’m concerned for the viability of the drug for all of the reasons you stated. But I’m uneasy about the manufacturing process. None of us have any experie
nce with this and the National Guard is having difficulty locating the Upsher-Smith employees. I need someone to oversee the operation that has at least a minimal amount of experience in creating the proper formula and dosage. I studied our roster last night, and unfortunately, the only person available is you.”

  Mac’s heart raced. Is this my ticket out of here?

  “Sir, part of my duties at the CDC, at least when I was wearing my lab scientist hat, was to create test vaccines for use at our sister laboratories around the world. When we came across that particularly virulent strain of hemorrhagic fever in Central Africa several years ago, we had to tweak the ribavirin formula in order to stop the effects of Lassa. It took a lot of long hours in the lab, but I was able to disseminate the drug all over the world in the event symptomatic patients slipped out of the hot zone.”

  Dr. Spielman nodded his head. “I know this, Mac, and this is why I’m in a predicament. Selfishly, I need you here. But to follow through with the President’s orders, I need you overseeing the manufacturing process.”

  “I’d be glad to do it, sir.”

  He sighed before continuing. “It’s not easy to transport people in and out of the Stapleton facility. You haven’t been around long enough to meet people or get to know them on a personal level, but most of our staff doesn’t have anyone outside of the Den. If I assign this task to you, we’ll have to find alternative housing for you until someone else can be trained.”

  Mac tried to contain her elation. Inside, she screamed SCORE! Outwardly, she put on her best Diane Sawyer, faux-concern look.

  “I understand, Dr. Spielman. Perhaps they have sleeping quarters at Upsher-Smith. Or better yet, I could stay at Star Ranch with my family.”

  “That’s a long, risky commute, Mac. I don’t know if that’s a viable option.”

  Mac thought fast. “Dr. Spielman, I happen to have a boyfriend that is very good at what he does. I can’t imagine being in safer hands than having Hunter escort me back and forth to work every day. Plus, I can assure you that his security capabilities will surpass ten of the National Guardsmen assigned to the facility.”