Author: Brett Battles
Category: Thriller
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For a few seconds, he seriously considered giving up and letting everyone do what they wanted. But he couldn’t. This was bigger than the people gathered in the room with him, whether they were infected or not.
He raised his hands. “Everybody, quiet.”
No one seemed to hear him.
“Hey!” he shouted, and let out a shrill whistle. “Quiet!”
That did the trick.
“We have two choices,” he said.
“Die or die?” someone suggested.
“We don’t know if we’re all going to die.”
“Ninety-nine percent mortality rate,” Norman Chu shot back.
“That was the first wave of SF-A,” Esposito said. “We don’t know if SF-B will behave the same.”
“So it could be even higher,” Chu said.
“Or lower,” Esposito said. “The thing is, there’s a chance one or more of us will be able to walk out of this room when this is all over. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
An uneasy quiet fell over the room, everyone staring at him.
“We can feel sorry for ourselves until this is over, or we could try to get some work done, and make some progress for those who’ll be taking on the task after us. Maybe even take advantage of our situation. We’re all test subjects now.” He paused. “You can each choose what you want to do, but I’m going to work.”
The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds. Then Ralph said, “We should run tests on everyone right away. Establish a baseline of those infected and not infected. Then we pull blood every half hour so we can chart progress.”
“Excellent idea. So I take it you’re with me.”
Ralph looked around at his peers and nodded.
“I’m with you, too,” Cindy said.
“Me, too,” Paige announced.
By the time they finished going around the room, everyone, even Norman Chu, had agreed to continue.
“Keep detailed notes,” Esposito said, once they’d divided up the work. “Clear, understandable notes. Assume you’ll never be able to speak to whoever will use them. If any of you have something you want to run by the group, shout it out. Anything else?”
No one said anything.
“Let’s get to work.”
As he sat back down, he absently moved the box from Dearing Laboratories—a fictitious name used by the Resistance—onto the shelf behind his desk to get it out of his way, never knowing that three vials of the vaccine they were trying to create were inside.
SITUATION ROOM, THE WHITE HOUSE
3:22 PM EST
“THAT’S CONFIRMED?…THEN have them run it again!…Yes, again…Call me as soon as you have the results.” The director of the CDC hung up the phone.
The others gathered around the table—the president’s chief of staff; his national security advisor; the attorney general; and the secretaries of Homeland Security, Defense, and Health and Human Services—were all staring at him, waiting. Like him, they were all wearing surgical masks.
“The preliminary test is positive,” the director said.
The secretary of defense blanched. “Good God.”
“I’ve ordered a second test to be sure. I’m told that only two people in the lab are experiencing symptoms, and even those are mild at this point.”
“What’s the chance the first test could be wrong?” Dale Gilford, the president’s chief of staff, asked.
The director hesitated. “It’s unclear. The test was developed based on the original strain of Sage Flu, and even then it would occasionally misidentify a case of everyday flu as Sage.”
“Give me a number.”
The director didn’t answer right away. He looked uncomfortable, as if he’d been backed into a corner. Finally he shrugged. “Ten percent.”
“Ten percent that it’s wrong.”
“Yes.”
Gilford stood up. “I’m having the president moved to Camp David.”
One of those who’d tested positive was Dr. Michael Esposito, who’d been sitting in this very room a little over twelve hours before. Even more troubling, he’d had an in-person briefing with the president. If Esposito was showing signs now, that must mean he’d already been infected or perhaps became infected while he was in Washington.
Which meant the virus had entered the White House.
“Maybe he should be flown directly to Lark River,” the secretary of Homeland Security suggested.
Lark River was the code name for a secret underground facility not far outside the capital where the president could stay for months, protected from the world outside.
“I’ll suggest it,” Gilford said. “But he won’t go for it. Not unless there’s no choice.”
“Gil,” the national security advisor said. “There may be no choice. This thing is spreading. Fast.”
Gilford acknowledged the advisor with a solemn nod and walked out of the room. While the head of the NSA was right, Gilford knew his boss. The president would feel like he was running away if he went to Lark River. He would want to stay someplace more visible to the American public. Even Camp David was going to be a fight.
As he walked through the West Wing, he saw a group of staffers huddled together, talking. When they spotted him, their conversation ceased, and all eyes turned to the chief of staff. He passed by, grim-faced, but said nothing.
Eva Bennett, the president’s secretary, looked up as Gilford approached her desk. Standing beside the doorway to the Oval Office was one of the president’s secret service agents.
“He’s talking to the British PM right now,” Ms. Bennett said. “He should be off in a minute or two.”
“He needs to be off now,” Gilford said. “We need to initiate Rollout.”
Immediately, the secret service agent raised his cuff to his mouth and relayed the order. Within seconds, his associates would be preparing for the president’s departure.
Ms. Bennett had always been a rock, no matter what crisis they’d faced in the past. But for the first time ever, Gilford saw fear in her eyes.
“We’ll leave as soon as he’s ready,” he said as he opened the door to the Oval Office.
The president was sitting behind the Resolute desk, his chair swiveled so that his back was to the door. Holding the phone to his ear, he looked over his shoulder and gave Gilford a nod of acknowledgment.
“We need to talk. Now,” Gilford said, keeping his voice low so that the prime minister wouldn’t hear him.
“That’s right,” the president said into the phone. “Absolutely agree.”
Gilford walked all the way to the desk. “Mr. President, we don’t have time to wait.”
The president turned to Gilford, then said, “Prime Minister, I apologize, but I have a briefing I need to attend. Let’s plan on reconnecting in a couple of hours…Yes, very important…okay.” He hung up and looked at Gilford. “What is it?”
“It’s time to get you out of here, sir. The staff is preparing Rollout right now.”
“Call it off,” the president said.
“Sir, it’s not safe here anymore. We’ve confirmed there’s been at least one infected person in the White House within the last day. It’ll be safer to get you out of here.”
“No, it won’t.”
The president’s stubbornness was admirable, but this wasn’t a budget fight on Capitol Hill. “Lark River would be best,” Gilford said, “but, at the very least, Camp David would—”
“I’m not leaving.”
“But, sir, if you stay, there’s an excellent chance you’ll be infected.”
The president stared at him for a moment, his eyes looking more tired than Gilford had ever seen them. “Gil, I’m already infected.”
It took Gilford a moment to register what the president had said. “Sir?”
“My eyes hurt. My throat’s tender. And my sinuses are throbbing. I already have it.”
Gilford froze, unable to speak.
“Let everyone leave who wants to,” the
president said. “In fact, you should encourage them to do so. I’m staying.”
“The first lady? Your son?”
“Already on the way to Camp David. But I was with them this morning. Given the rate of transmission of this thing, they’re most likely infected, too.”
“Dear God.”
“Go on, Gil. Let the staff go home to their families, then check the line of succession. Find out who’s uninfected, get them to Lark River. Whoever’s highest among them, tell them I’ll be handing over my job soon.”
Gilford walked out of the Oval Office, numb.
“When do we leave, sir?” the secret service agent asked.
Gilford blinked twice. “We don’t,” he said. He looked at Ms. Bennett. “Can you have everyone gather in the conference room? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Of course,” she said. “Gil, what’s going on?”
Not even realizing she’d asked a question, Chief of Staff Gilford walked out of the room and down the hall to the private restroom just off his office, where he kneeled in front of the toilet and threw up.
Nine
MALMSTROM AIR FORCE BASE, MONTANA
1:57 PM MST
DESPITE THE BEST efforts of the men on the helicopter, Brandon remained silent. Though the markings on the outside of the craft claimed it belonged to the US Army, he was reluctant to believe it. The Project Eden people could have easily painted the same markings on their helicopters, he thought.
It wasn’t until the craft touched down at a military base that he had to admit maybe the markings were genuine. There were several other aircraft around, though most seemed to belong to the air force, not the army.
Brandon was hustled across the tarmac into a warm, nearby building.
“Who we got here?” a man in uniform, also wearing a mask that covered his whole face, asked one of Brandon’s escorts.
“Don’t know. He’s not talking. Found him walking down the middle of a road north of here. As far as we could tell, there was nothing else around him.”
“All right, I’ll take him.”
One of the two escorts set Brandon’s pack on the floor, while the other gave Brandon a pat on the back before they left.
“So, you going to tell us your name?” the new man said.
Brandon hesitated, but finally decided it might be okay. “Brandon. Brandon Ash.”
“Okay, Brandon Ash. Where are you from?”
“Um, Iowa.”
“Iowa? I’m guessing you didn’t walk from there. Where’s your family?”
“I don’t know,” Brandon said.
“You got separated?”
Brandon wasn’t sure how he should handle things. If he told the man the truth, it would lead to other questions that he didn’t know the answers to. And, knowing adults, he didn’t think the man and his friends would believe him anyway.
He decided to answer the man’s question with a nod.
“So what happened?”
Brandon thought quickly. “We…we went out for a drive and got stuck in the snow. My dad went out to try and find help. When he didn’t come back, I went to look for him.”
“When was this?”
“Yesterday.”
“You’ve been wandering around on your own since yesterday?”
A nod, though it had actually been longer than that.
“I imagine you’re probably pretty hungry.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll get you some chow in a second. A couple more questions, all right?”
“Sure.”
“How you feeling? Any fever? Sniffles? Sore throat?”
“No, sir.”
“Headaches? Muscle ache?”
While his muscles did ache from his prolonged hike, he knew that wasn’t what the man was concerned about, so he shook his head.
“Okay, good. I need to take a blood sample. You’re not going to get all squeamish on me, are you?”
“No. I’m not scared of needles.”
“Glad to hear it. Can you take off your jacket?”
Brandon pulled the zipper down and removed his right arm, but left his left in its sleeve. He then pulled the shirt and sweater he was wearing up past his elbow and held out his arm.
“You’ve done this before,” the man said.
“A couple times.”
“Come on over here.”
The man led him to a table that had a kit on top containing syringes and other medical supplies.
“What you got in there?” the man asked, nodding at the pack Brandon had carried over with him.
Brandon shrugged. “Some food, camping stuff.”
“Were you guys going out for a hike?”
Brandon went back to simply nodding.
“Kind of a bad time of year for hiking.”
“Christmas hike,” Brandon said, hoping that would be enough of an answer.
It seemed to do the trick. “I get it. Tradition, right?”
“Yeah.”
The man took two vials of blood from Brandon’s arm, then said, “We have just enough time to get you something hot to eat before your plane leaves. Sound good to you?”
“Plane?”
“Can’t keep you here, little man. Not enough room or staff.”
“Where am I going?”
“Colorado.”
THERE WERE FIVE other passengers on the airplane—three more children and two men. All of them, including Brandon, had been issued full facial masks like the soldiers had been wearing, and were assigned seats in separate rows. The other children looked scared, while the men looked pissed off.
Seven soldiers were also scattered throughout the cabin. Unlike the one who’d questioned Brandon, they were hard-faced and said very little.
The plane was in the air for over an hour and a half. As they came in for a landing, Brandon looked out the window. Not too far away was a tall mountain range, similar to the mountains in Montana, and between it and where they were landing, rolling hills. There was snow on the ground surrounding the runway, though not nearly as much as he’d experienced farther north. Two or three inches at most.
As they rolled down the taxiway, Brandon saw many more military planes and trucks and helicopters parked off to the side, and figured this must be another base. Once the plane finally stopped, the soldier in the front stood up.
“When the door opens, you will get out one by one as we point to you,” he said. “Outside will be two transport vehicles. You four kids will get into the one on the left.” He looked at the two men. “Gentlemen, yours will be the one on the right. Everyone understand?”
“Where are you taking us?” one of the kids asked, a girl, maybe a year or so younger than Brandon.
“Someplace safe.”
“That’s not really an answer,” one of the men said.
“That’s the answer you’re getting right now, sir.”
“Well, I’m not getting into anything until I know where I’m going. In fact…” The man stood up. “I want to talk to whoever’s in charge right now.”
“Sir, please be seated.”
The man scooted into the aisle and started walking toward the front.
“Sir, I’m warning you. Return to your seat now.”
The man kept coming.
“Sir, I will not say it again.”
“I don’t give a damn about your warnings. I want you to get—”
The man had been so focused on the soldier at the front that he hadn’t heard the one who moved in quickly behind him. With blinding speed, the protesting man was shoved to the ground, wrenched back to his feet, and forcibly marched to a seat in the very last row.
This wasn’t the first time Brandon had seen violence, so it didn’t shock him. The other kids, though, stared at the soldiers, looking scared out of their minds.
A moment later, the door swung open, and another soldier—a woman this time—stepped on board. She was a captain, the insignia on her uniform the same as Brandon’s father�
�s had been when he was in the army.
“Are we ready here?” she asked.
“One of our passengers isn’t being as cooperative as we would have liked, but everyone else is set.”
She turned to the cabin and said in a loud voice, “Good afternoon. I am Captain Valverde, and I am here to make sure you all get to your destinations. We’ll start with the children.”
Brandon was the last one the male soldier pointed at. He grabbed his pack, scooted into the aisle behind the two girls and the other boy, and headed for the door.
The air outside was brisk, but not as cold as Montana had been. As promised, there were two vehicles waiting. They were like a combo between a bus and a van, and reminded Brandon of a vehicle his family had ridden in when they’d gone to pick up a rental car at an airport once.
The door opened in the middle as they reached their vehicle.
“Please sit in separate rows,” Captain Valverde said.
Brandon took a seat near the back, then looked out the window in time to see the two male adult passengers coming down the stairs. The first was walking on his own, while the second—the protestor—was being half carried down. When they reached the tarmac, the second passenger tried to squirm away from the soldier holding him, but the only thing he got out of it was a fist in his gut and a punch to the jaw.
One of the girls let out a gasp.
The driver of their van, wearing a full containment suit, looked into the rearview mirror, stared at the girl for a moment, and dropped his gaze back to the front window.
Though Brandon didn’t have a view of the girl’s face, he could see she was shaking and thought she might start crying. The row across the aisle from her was empty. He gave it only a moment’s thought before he moved up next to her.
This drew another look from the man at the wheel, but Brandon ignored him.
“Hey, it’s going to be all right,” he said to the girl.
She looked at him, tears running down her cheeks. “I want to go home.”
“We all do,” he told her. “But we can’t right now.”
“I want to go home.”
“When this is over, they’ll take you home.”
“Really?”
“They’re not going to hurt us. They’re just trying to keep us safe from, you know, what’s happening out there.” He pointed out the window. “The flu.”