The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

Doug’s feet ached from standing in the shelter’s parking lot. The sun was halfway down the horizon and the sky looked pink and orange. But the smell of rotting flesh made him queasy. For the past hour, Sister Ezekiel had kept everyone’s spirits up by alternately leading prayers and hymns. Now, one of the Elite Ops troopers strode forward and placed his Las-rifle under Sister Ezekiel’s chin. Everyone else stopped talking but Sister Ezekiel immediately launched into another Hail Mary.

  “Please, Sister,” Doug said. “Don’t make them angry. Please be quiet. They’re gonna kill you.” He squeezed her hand hard but she kept right on praying. Doug flinched. He could almost feel the rifle pressing into his own skin. He said to the trooper, “She’s never harmed anyone.”

  The trooper turned his helmet toward Doug, who shivered as he saw his image reflected in the visor. These men were cold. Sister Ezekiel continued to pray, her head tilted up away from the Las-rifle. Beside him, Henry gripped his hand tightly and Doug suddenly felt ill. Somehow he knew that when the trooper turned back to Sister Ezekiel he was going to fire. When Doug saw the helmet move, he yelled, “No!”

  Sister Ezekiel’s head jerked sideways. Her glasses and wimple flew off, exposing her stiff gray hair, and she crumpled as the laser buzzed. Her hand dragged Doug’s down.

  A loud metallic voice spoke: “Stay where you are or more will die.”

  A chill ran through Doug. He gaped at Sister Ezekiel’s lifeless face, at the sightless eyes, blackened from the fall she took earlier. Henry bent over and retched, his vomit landing on the boot of the trooper. Before Henry could straighten up, the trooper kicked him in the face—a sickening crunch. Doug almost didn’t notice the screaming voices around him. All he could focus on was Sister Ezekiel lying motionless on the ground. A young man with an orange Afro leaned forward to peer at Sister Ezekiel, small lenses peeking out from behind the hair.

  The bastard’s filming her!

  The young man’s face was nearly white as he bent to look at the fallen nun. Doug wanted to punch him. Colonel Truman stepped forward, his hands clenched into fists, a strangled sound coming from his throat.

  Dropping to his knees, Doug grabbed Sister Ezekiel’s wrist. He felt no pulse. Straightening her legs, he crossed her arms over her chest, then closed her eyes.

  Screaming people began pushing into him. Doug fought to his feet and held them back, so no one would step on Sister Ezekiel’s body. He recognized Colonel Truman and Ahmad next to him, pushing back against the crowd. Staring off to the northeast, where the Escala hid, Doug avoided looking at Sister Ezekiel’s ruined face as he tried to block out the noise and the smell.

  * * *

  As Sister Ezekiel dropped to the ground, her limbs sprawled awkwardly, Jeremiah pushed himself out of his chair, fists clenched at his sides, fighting a sudden bout of nausea. But before he could reach Carlton, Quark assaulted the man. Growling, Quark pummeled Carlton, punching him over and over. Carlton screamed—a high, piercing wail interrupted by the sickening sound of ribs cracking.

  “Get him off! Get him off!” Carlton yelled. “He’s killing me. Get him off or everybody dies.”

  He curled up in a defensive posture as the sergeants and the major moved forward to protect him, but Quark threw them off like children. Jeremiah dove between Quark and Carlton, absorbing body blows from the big Escala. He struggled to separate them, pushing and kicking at Carlton while his arms tried to pinion Quark. It was like trying to wrestle a bear. But finally he freed Carlton from Quark’s grip. As the sergeants pulled Carlton free, Jeremiah grabbed Quark by the ears, his face just inches away, and yelled, “We can’t kill him. We can’t kill him.”

  Finally Quark stopped thrashing and Jeremiah loosened his grip. At that moment, Jay-Edgar said, “Got it. That’s amazing!”

  Jeremiah looked across the table. Devereaux—oblivious to the scuffle in front of him, the captains and doctors at his back—continued to work at his computer.

  “What have you got?” President Hope asked from the other side of the shield, where she stood behind her Secret Service agents, protected from a possible attack.

  General Horowitz pointed to the projection, which continued to show EOs surrounding government buildings and the fallen nun at the Tessamae Shelter. “Looks the same to me,” he said.

  “We’ve temporarily sabotaged all local satellite connections in the frequency range used by the Elite Ops,” Devereaux said. “But we can only disrupt them for about ten minutes.”

  “Knock him out,” Eli said.

  The major pressed a pad into Carlton’s neck and Carlton’s head immediately dropped.

  “Quickly,” Eli said. “We need that deadman switch out of his head.”

  The two sergeants dragged Carlton from the room at a run, the major following them. Two of the doctors behind Devereaux also jogged out.

  “Sister Ezekiel!” Devereaux said. He raised himself up, then bent over in pain, and Jeremiah realized he’d only now seen what had happened to the nun. The two captains flanking Devereaux helped him back to his seat. The doctor beside him examined her scanner and shook her head.

  Parting her Secret Service agents with her hands, President Hope stepped close to the edge of the shield. Her hair sparkled in the light. She said, “Are you sure about this?”

  “They’re not attacking,” Eli replied.

  Jay-Edgar said, “The satellites are trying to reconfigure themselves. We’ve got about eight minutes before they find an alternate pathway.”

  “Would the Elite Ops attack without an order to do so?” President Hope asked.

  No one had an answer.

  Jeremiah stared at the screens as Jay-Edgar manipulated them—the Capitol, the White House, the Lincoln Memorial and Sister Ezekiel’s body with a cluster of people around it. Other bodies lay off to the side. For the moment, the EOs simply held their positions.

  Devereaux, his face pale, sat down heavily and began to weep. The tall doctor bent over him for a second before backing away as Quark, his massive body shaking, worked his way around the table past Eli and put his hands on Devereaux’s shoulders, then turned to glare at the room’s occupants as if daring them to twitch a muscle or say a word. Jeremiah met his eyes briefly before returning to his seat.

  President Hope slumped into her chair while General Horowitz picked up the pitcher of water, poured a glass and passed it to her. Taking a sip, her hand trembling, she stared at Eli. Jeremiah sensed some meaning behind the look but he couldn’t say whether it was accusation or question.

  General Horowitz looked down at his PlusPhone, touched the President’s hand and said, “The Elite Ops still aren’t responding to my orders. But at least they’re not attacking.”

  “Six minutes,” Jay-Edgar said.

  President Hope put her face in her hands. After a few seconds, she rubbed her eyes and said, “We still have a hell of a problem. We need those Elite Ops under control. How long to find and take out the chip in Carlton’s head?”

  “Can’t be more than ten minutes,” Eli said. “We don’t have to be too careful. We just have to make sure he doesn’t die during surgery.”

  “We don’t have ten minutes,” President Hope said.

  “Excuse me,” Devereaux said, his voice quavering slightly. “But there’s a more important problem here.”

  Eli frowned in confusion.

  “Sister Ezekiel,” Devereaux said, his face flushing, “was just murdered by that madman. An innocent, gentle creature: the best person I’ve ever met. And you’re dismissing it as insignificant, as if you had no responsibility for it at all.”

  President Hope said, “Eli didn’t kill Sister Ezekiel.”

  “Yes, he did.” Devereaux’s voice crackled with anger. “He’s part of it. You’re all part of it.”

  Eli said, “You’re to blame too.”

  “Let’s all calm down,” President Hope said. “S
ister Ezekiel’s death is most regrettable. But it’s Richard Carlton’s fault—no one else’s. Once this crisis is over, we’ll re-examine the Elite Ops program.”

  Jay-Edgar said, “Four minutes.”

  The holo-projections in the corner showed the EOs holding their positions outside the government landmarks. Jay-Edgar switched channels briefly to show continuing riots in a dozen major cities, where National Guard troops now began arriving.

  “Mr. Devereaux,” the President said. “You may have saved a great many lives today. But you’re dangerous. The weapons you’ve designed…”

  “I never should have told President Davis about them,” Devereaux said. “I never meant to build them. I only wanted to make him aware that such weapons were possible, that humanity could be destroyed. I wanted to encourage him to work toward establishing a colony on Mars.”

  “Still,” President Hope said, “What am I going to do with you?”

  “You could have me killed,” Devereaux said, his face showing no sign he was joking. “You could dig into my brain to pull out the secrets of the bioweapons I conceived. But that way leads to oblivion. Whether you use the weapons or someone else does, eventually they will be used, so I’ll never give them to you voluntarily.”

  “I don’t want them.”

  “Others in your government do.” He glanced at Eli, then at General Horowitz. “I won’t surrender that knowledge. You could eliminate the problem, the temptation, by reinstating the Mars Project, sending me to Mars with the Escala.”

  The President lifted her hands. “We don’t have the money.”

  “Find it,” Devereaux said. “I can’t stay here any longer. Too many people want too much of me. And as for the money, the cost of keeping me here might ultimately be greater than the cost of sending me away.”

  “Two minutes,” Jay-Edgar intoned.

  Jeremiah felt like his insides had just been run through a shredder. He found it difficult to focus on the conversation. How could these people discuss the Mars Project so calmly while the EOs prepared to burn the city to the ground? Jeremiah kept his eyes on the monitors, checking for any sign of aggressive movement by the EOs, as if he could prevent an attack by his vigilance.

  President Hope addressed Devereaux again: “You want me to send you to Mars when I have all these other more urgent problems to address? Terrorism, the Susquehanna Virus, the condemnation of religious governments around the world for allowing you to remain free. Not to mention the fear people have of what the Escala might do on their own, unsupervised, with a whole planet’s resources at their disposal.”

  “We’re scientists,” Quark protested. Then, as if realizing his outburst had been inappropriate, he lowered his head, angling it to the side, and stared up at the President.

  “The Escala,” Devereaux said, “have no desire to dominate humans. They simply wish to fulfill their destiny—to learn and grow, to achieve their full potential. Keeping them here will kill them. Surely you know that.”

  “And letting them go may kill us,” Eli said. He looked at Quark. “With your intelligence and physical abilities, it wouldn’t take much for you to overcome humanity. Not tomorrow, certainly, but in a few generations.” He pointed at Devereaux. “You’ve made no secret about wanting to improve humanity.”

  “This is better?” Devereaux replied, his eyes shifting between Eli and President Hope. “Rioting? Chaos? The murder of innocents in the name of patriotism or religion or some archaic notion of what it means to be human? You will be well rid of us, believe me. Out of sight, out of mind.”

  “Zero,” Jay-Edgar said. “Satellite connection now restored.”

  Everyone stared at the monitors. The EOs in front of the White House and the Washington Monument brought their particle beam cannons to bear on their targets. But they held their fire. Jeremiah stared at the projection of the Tessamae Shelter, where the camera still showed a picture of Sister Ezekiel on her back. After a few seconds, the camera shifted to show the four EOs circling the enclosure with jet packs. They slowly descended, joining the three at the entrance. When all seven were together, they headed for the tank parked in the street, the trailing EO walking backwards, his weapon aimed at the crowd. As they reached the vehicle, the trailing EO fired a long blue burst at a pile of weapons, and everybody in the enclosure dropped to the ground. Jeremiah cringed, expecting an explosion. None came. When the EOs climbed into the vehicle and drove away to the south, Colonel Truman and another tall black man knelt before Sister Ezekiel. Together they lifted her and, surrounded by the crowd, each of whom reached in a hand to touch her habit, carried her to the shelter.

  The major ran into the conference room and came to attention. “Sir,” he said to General Horowitz, “the doctor’s got the chip from Carlton.”

  “Put it on screen,” Eli said to Jay-Edgar.

  The holo-projection scene changed, showing an operating room. The doctor held a small chip up to the camera, which then zoomed in on Carlton’s head. His face had gone slack and his eyes were open wide, staring blankly ahead, not blinking.

  “Afraid we did some damage to his cerebral cortex,” the doctor said.

  “Well done,” President Hope said. She reached out an unsteady hand and took a sip of water. “I don’t mind telling you I was a little nervous just then.” She leaned back in her chair and turned to Devereaux. “I can’t guarantee anything. But I’ll do everything in my power to get you to Mars. I owe you that much.”

  “Thank you,” Devereaux said.

  “What about the Moon?” Quark asked. “Couldn’t we temporarily relocate there? The increase in radiation would be beneficial.”

  “Good idea,” Devereaux said.

  President Hope nodded. “That can be arranged.”

  “One other thing,” Devereaux said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to record a broadcast to the people of the world—a goodbye message. Although my ideas haven’t been accepted as well as I’d hoped, I would still like a chance to address my brothers and sisters—explain why I’ve done what I’ve done, hopefully help them through these difficult times.”

  Jeremiah immediately caught the reconciliatory nature of that gesture, realizing that if Devereaux wanted to, he could send the message without the President’s approval.

  But President Hope seemed to take the request seriously. She pursed her lips and said, “We’ll let you tape something. And if it’s not a threat to our national security, we’ll broadcast it. Elias can set that up for you.” She glanced at the projection showing the ruined Tessamae Shelter. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.” Then she looked at Eli. “Anything else I need to be aware of?” When Eli shook his head, she nodded. “Very well. Good work, gentlemen.”

  She got to her feet and strode out the door without a backward glance, her Secret Service agents surrounding her, General Horowitz bringing up the rear. As her side of the room went dark, the shield fading to nothing, Eli pursed his lips and said, “Well, I guess that’s over.”

  Jeremiah stared at him. “What about Carlton?”

  “Carlton?”

  “If Marschenko kidnapped my son on Carlton’s orders, how am I supposed to find out where Joshua is with Carlton like that?”

  “We’re close to finding Joshua. Come with me.” Eli rose to his feet, started for the door. “If you two gentlemen will excuse us,” he said to Quark and Devereaux. “You too, Jay-Edgar. I won’t need you for this.”

  Before he reached the door, Quark strode over and blocked the exit. He said, “When do we leave?”

  “The sooner, the better,” Eli answered, his neck arched way back to look up at the big man. “We can start putting people on Lunar Base 2 in a week or two. As for Mars, well, there’s a chance you can be on your way inside a year.”

  Eli, stepping around Quark, waited at the door as Jeremiah got to his feet and walked around the tabl
e to where Devereaux sat. The two captains flanking Devereaux moved back a step. “I’m sorry,” Jeremiah said, touching Devereaux’s shoulder, “for the way everything turned out. I should have listened to Julianna.”

  “You’re a good man,” Devereaux said. He reached up and put his hand over Jeremiah’s. “Julianna was right about that. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

  “I was going to make the same offer,” Jeremiah said. “Are you sure you should be going to Mars? You’re not genetically altered.”

  Devereaux smiled, patted Jeremiah’s hand. “Ever since I was a little boy, I used to look up at the stars and planets. I always wanted to go to Mars. Just to stand on its surface for a moment would be enough for me.”

  One of the doctors behind the chair cleared her throat. “Mr. Devereaux, we need you in surgery now.”

  Jeremiah squeezed Devereaux’s shoulder gently, then made his way to the door. Quark nodded to him as he passed and Jeremiah nodded back. Then he followed Eli down the hall to Eli’s office, his gut churning. “What do you know about Joshua?” he asked as he entered the office, only then noticing Mrs. Harris at work cleaning the top of Eli’s desk.

  Eli gestured for Mrs. Harris to leave, then closed the door behind her and activated the sunset rainbow lighting he seemed to prefer. “We’ve begun accessing Carlton’s computer files. We found references to a program of genetic modification. Many of the records were destroyed by an anti-tampering virus. It may take some time to recover them. The files we could access contain a code name—Lucas. It looks like a classic cutout. None of the participants knew all the others. They each just knew one other person. We don’t know yet who Lucas is or how he’s connected to Carlton.”

  “How does that tie up with Joshua?”

  “The name Joshua Jones appeared in the Lucas file. We’ll get what we can from Carlton. But that may not be much. Still, we’re closer than we were.”

  Jeremiah sensed Eli knew more than he was saying—a slight quaver in the old man’s voice. He focused on Eli’s face and said, “Why did he take Joshua?”