She returned to the lectern and announced, “We have a nationwide outbreak of typhoid. The CDC confirmed several cases in 13 American cities, and it is in the process of verifying suspected cases in another 9 metropolitan areas. For those of you who aren’t familiar with this disease, the anticipated fatality rate without Cipro class antibiotics is over 40%. With said medications, the fatality rate is less than 1%. I’m here, at the request of the director and the president to brief everyone on the situation.”
A murmur humm
ed throughout the room, the legislators opening the report as soon as they received copies. Reed was handed the dwindling stack and hurriedly opened the short report.
Dr. Mitchel continued, “So far, the outbreak is not classified as an epidemic, but my gut feeling is that will change in the next 24 hours. The early cases are the very elderly and the very young – segments of the populations who are traditionally the most susceptible and show symptoms first. As of six hours ago, we had 416 confirmed cases. We estimate at least 200,000 more people are in the early stages and haven’t sought medical attention yet. So far, there have been 103 fatalities.”
The senator from Idaho glanced up from his report and interrupted. “Do we know where it’s coming from?”
“Yes,” replied the doctor immediately, “We have identified the source as toxic particulates. In layman’s terms, the concentration of people in the refugee camps has led to massive amounts of untreated human waste. This waste eventually dries, forming a paste like layer on land or wherever it is disposed of. Wind, passing vehicles, foot traffic, and other disturbances allow the particulates to become airborne, basically infiltrating and coating everything from food to drinking water. At one camp outside of Nashville, practically every surface we tested was contaminated.”
Reed and several others had been talking about the water supply for days. It had been the primary health concern, with everyone from the Army Corps of Engineers to Homeland Security being questioned on the subject. Reed needed to clarify. “Doctor, isn’t typhoid normally due to tainted drinking water?”
The woman at the front of the room shook her head. “Yes, but not only drinking water. It can be spread by mosquitos and other insects. What we are seeing is different, something new. We finally isolated the source yesterday.
Vast amounts of human waste has dried out and turned into a crust in many areas. This material is now becoming airborne and spreading the disease. It is also a strain that we’ve never encountered, and it’s spreading quickly. As of right now, we’re seeing an abnormally high rate of infection in the southern states. The primary concentration seems to be Miami, Tampa Bay, Mobile, and New Orleans. We believe we are actually seeing two different strains of typhoid – one caused by polluted drinking water, the other being airborne. The sewage systems in these areas are all but inoperable, drainage is poor, and potable water is in short supply. Rainfall has been far less than normal in these regions as well.”
“Great…just what we needed,” commented one congressman sitting next to Reed.
The doctor paused to let her words sink in and then pressed on. “We have to distribute antibiotic treatment in mass quantities immediately or this is going to continue to spread quickly. We could be looking at over 10 million casualties in less than two months.”
“What do you need from us,
doctor?” asked Reed.
The question seemed to surprise her. After a long pause, she said, “The president has already diverted military and government resources for the manufacture and distribution of the medications. I’m only here to brief you, not request anything.”
Martial law, thought Reed. Well at least the dictator-in-chief is taking the time to let us know what’s going on. I wonder how long that will last.
The meeting adjourned. As the doctor gathered her materials and prepared to leave, Reed approached her smiling, “Mind if I walk with you, doctor? I’ve got a couple of simple questions.”
“No, not at all. How can I help you?”
“I’m just curious what resources the president is diverting. What’s going to happen?”
The woman stepped quickly toward the door, Reed hustling to keep up. She met his gaze and responded, “The plants that can manufacture the quantities of meds we need are in New Jersey. Electrical power is being diverted from New York, as well as the engineers, linemen and other skilled personnel required to get those facilities up and running. The president hated to do it. This outbreak means a lot of people are going to do without for a little longer, but we’ve really no choice.”
Reed had figured as much - another step backwards. “Thank you, doctor. Have a safe flight.”
Crusoe, Texas
June 1, 2017
One of the biggest problems facing the citizens of Crusoe was salt. Most of the vessels had small supplies of the mineral, intended to fill table shakers. It seemed like every food gathering, curing or preservation process required large quantities of salt.
It was a retired oil field engineer who dreamed up a potential solution. A shallow, wide hole was excavated on the beach and lined with a plastic tarp. The roughly ten-foot square pit was less than a foot deep in the middle, its bottom sloping gently upwards toward the edges. Someone remarked it looked like a homemade kiddie pool.
A bucket brigade was formed to haul ocean water across the sand and fill the pit. Five gallons at a time, the water was poured in until the depth reached about six inches. The concept was simple: the sun would evaporate the water leaving the sea salt. The work crew had finished two days before.
Wyatt, David and two other men slogged across the hot sand, hoping it had all worked. Digging the pit had been a lot of backbreaking, sweaty work. No one had a shovel. It wasn’t a tool common on boats – something no one had thought of before leaving. Plastic buckets scooped pounds of beach by hand resulting in sore muscles and exhausted men. Filling the pool had been worse.
The first thing Wyatt noticed as they approached the tarp was all of the water had indeed evaporated. A thin coating of yellow grit covered the tarp, not the anticipated sparkling white powder. As the men stood around their makeshift desalination project, it became clear that their end product smelled like rotting fish.
“Wow! That really stinks,” commented David, pinching his nose to diminish the effect of the offensive odor.
Wyatt knelt down on one knee and gingerly stuck a finger into the grime. A quick sniff curled his face, but he licked the powder anyway. Smacking his lips, Wyatt reported the results of his taste test. “Yup. It’s salt all right. To be more accurate, I would say it’s more like one of those salt blends – a mixture of salt, seasoned with fish poop, rotting clam guts, and clay.”
“Not only is there not much here, the girls are going to have a fit over the stench. There’s got to be a better way.”
Wyatt gazed at the sun and shook his head. “We need to be getting back,” he announced. “Let’s scrape this stuff off and take it back. Maybe the smell will motivate someone to come up with a better idea.”
Chapter 11
June 10, 2017
The US military began to move west. The actions weren’t overt, publicized, or even detectable at first. To the casual observer, the pattern wasn’t overly unusual - a new fighter wing landing in Guam, another detachment of Marines on Okinawa, another combat team in South Korea.
At first, only the Chinese high command took notice. It was their profession to keep tabs on the forces arrayed around them, and in addition, they had been warned to expect such movements of men and material. MOSS had briefed the Red Army’s general staff to expect saber rattling out of the United States. The intelligence agency also estimated the chances of actual military action were low.
It was the Japanese press that figured it out first, their sphere of influence seeing the most activity. Headlines in Tokyo declared America was forward deploying for war on the Asian continent. It didn’t take a lot of dot connecting to speculate who the target was.
The Nippon paparazzi may have lit the fuse, but it was the European press that exploded the story. It suddenly dawned on the entire planet that the
US blamed China for its recent difficulties and was preparing for military action.
American diplomats and officials didn’t help calm the reaction. The talking points and position statements, distributed several days before the story broke, began with weak denials that eventually turned into cocky assertiveness. The
US could move its military assets anywhere it wanted. It was none of anyone’s concern. The concept of a war was unacceptable to a world that was already suffering badly. Every continent besides North America may have had electricity, but civil unrest, spread by economic hardship was widespread and growing.
Once again, the White House misjudged the
unintended consequences of its own actions. Not since the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait had a government’s anticipation of world reaction been so off base. The regime of Saddam Hussein had truly been shocked at the global response after invading its neighbor, believing no one would seriously care about the tiny nation. In the end, that lack of judgment had cost the people of Iraq dearly in treasure and lives. Now the US had made a similar miscalculation, the dark clouds of a political storm gathering on the horizon. The unavoidable confrontation was destined to occur at the United Nations.
The United Nations had relocated to Belgium due to a lack of electricity in New York City. While most diplomats were too polite to say so in public, the civil unrest in America’s largest city played as much of a role in the relocation as any lack of light or heat. The necessity to move out of North America had sent shock waves rolling through the guts of the organization. Some nations cheered the move, ha
ppy that the world’s only superpower had finally been humbled. Other countries were supportive of the United States, but lacked the resources to help the crippled giant.
America expected outrage as details of the attack on her infrastructure came to light. China parried the initial political thrusts by claiming innocence and then accus
ed the US of having an outdated power grid. When the White House leaked allegations of a deliberate attack, the Chinese spun the headlines into a story of America’s tendency to blame everyone else for her massive debt – a problem that prohibited proper maintenance on her infrastructure – action that could have avoided the collapse.
Normally, the US
would hold her own in any match on the chessboard of international public relations. Not so any longer. Half of the White House staff was absent, with the Department of State suffering from a similar number missing in action. Communications were spotty, and the best minds were concentrating on holding the country together, not contests of diplomatic finger pointing.
Even if the administration had played its best game, the world wasn’t going to have any of it. During normal times, the prospect of war between the two bickering countries was bad enough. With a majority of the planet’s economies tilting over the edge already, the concept of
WWIII was unacceptable. Add in the potential for the exchange of nuclear weapons, and global reaction to the United States was harsh and direct.
Many experts thought that Europe and other friendly nations would come to the aid of the United States with electrical components, circuit boards, and spare parts. While it would have taken some time to retool EU manufacturing operations over to the
US electrical standard of 60 cycles, eventually help would arrive. The public fury over a potential war between China and the US prevented even the friendliest nations from lending a hand. Trade embargos were threatened on the floor of the United Nations. Some governments, barely maintaining control of their own populations, even promised to help the Chinese if the US attacked the Red Nation.
The
US reaction to all of this was predictable. An almost neo-classic pattern of isolationism swept through the besieged government. While pride and ego were involved, the inescapable feeling of having been wronged prompted this reaction. America was the victim after all – why was the world ganging up on us? We didn’t start this – we didn’t make the first move.
Caught up in so many struggles, both domestic and foreign, few of the people in Washington realized the worst aspect of the entire affair. Because the
US wouldn’t be receiving any outside help, the American people would endure more suffering for a longer period of time.
Matagorda Island, Texas
June 10, 2017
David waited for Todd to maneuver the jet-ski between the breakers, amazed at the young man’s skill and timing with the craft.
I’m glad he’s a master with that thing
, he thought
, if we beach the waverunner, everybody’s going to be really mad.
Todd finally maneuvered close enough and David handed him the baited hook and tackle at the end of his fishing line.
Verifying the bale was open, David flashed thumbs-up, and Todd turned his craft, heading directly offshore. Holding the rod and reel high above his head, David waded back to the beach, keeping an eye on his line as Todd carried it further from shore than he could ever cast.
“This better work,” David said to himself, “We’re going to get in trouble for wasting gas if it doesn’t.”
The two had cooked up this scheme after looking at one of the navigation charts and finding a marked shipwreck just offshore. “The Hazards to Boaters” listed the sunken vessel as resting in 32 feet of water. David knew b
ig fish liked shelter, so Todd and he began contemplating how to fish off the relic.
The first problem had been locating the wreck. The water outside of the first sandbar was reasonably clear, but there was no way to perform a visual search from the
waverunner. What they needed was a sonar-type fish finder that could scan the bottom, hopefully locating the outline of the old vessel.
Since they were sneaking around without asking permission, taking out a boat that was equipped for such exploration was out of the question. It had been Todd’s comment that had sparked the brainstorm. The kid had blurted out, “What we need is a big magnet.”
That was it!
David had seen an old, discarded alternator lying in a trash heap by the ranger’s station. That piece of junk would have some pretty strong magnets inside. Before long, they were trolling on the
jet-ski offshore, 30 feet of fishing line with two big magnets trailing behind in the water.
On the fifth pass, the line became taut, but it wasn’t the ship. Davi
d, riding passenger, pulled up an old Chevy hubcap that looked like it had been underwater for a long time.
Two more passes later, the line tightened again, and David couldn’t pull it up. He donned the snorkeling mask and slid off the edge of the
jet-ski. After diving down about 15 feet, he could recognize the outline of something hefty and dark below. There actually didn’t appear to be much of the ship left, but they had found it. He also noted several schools of good-sized fish, lazily swimming around the submerged hulk.
Todd marked the location on their handheld GPS,
and the first step of their caper was complete.
Secretly, they studied the GPS location and the charts the next night. The ship was actually about 400 yards off of the beach. That presented a problem because most of the heavy reels didn’t have enough 20-p
ound test to reach that far from the shore. If they hooked something big, there wasn’t going to be much line left to play the fish.
They decided to chance it, more from boredom than anything else.
Todd’s waving arm brought David back to the task at hand. The sun was beginning to dry his suit and legs, the morning already growing warm. David readied the fishing pole as Todd dropped the line and then motored away from the area.
David waited, knowing it would take the rig a while to sink 30 feet. They had selected a larger than normal piece of bait, not wanting to go to all this trouble for a small catch. He felt that sense of excitement and mystery that comes with deep-water fishing.
You never know what you’ll hook into down there
, he thought.
There was also a hope of easy food. While the boaters weren’t starving, gathering food was a constant source of time and labor. Todd
and he had spent many days fishing, often sporting quite the catch. It took a lot of protein to nourish the people of Crusoe. More than once Todd and he had returned from hours of fishing with their stringers full. After the cleaning and cooking was done, there still wasn’t enough to go around. Other days resulted in nothing – the fish simply weren’t biting. David and his father had both thought they would never see the day when angling would become work. “What happened to that old saying about the worst day fishing was better than the best day working?”
Quite a bit of time passed, and David was beginning to think all their effort was for naught. The bait had been down for several minutes, and he hadn’t even had a nibble, let alone a bite. He was just raising his arm to
bring Todd back in when the pole was practically jerked out of his hand.
David snapped back with all of his strength to set the hook. Another strong tug told him he had a fish. Whatever it was on the other end, it was powerful and fast. The reel started screaming as more and more line was taken by the running fish.
This isn’t good
, thought David.
I don’t have much left
. He tightened the drag just a bit, hoping to wear the animal out without snapping his line. The fish still pulled hard; David scooped water onto the reel so it kept cool.
Another adjustment slowed the hooked swimmer, and then suddenly the line went slack. David started reeling, hoping the beast had turned back toward him as opposed to breaking his line.
As fast as his hand would spin, David reeled in line. The fight suddenly began again, and the pole was pulled downward hard, the reel whining as its drag worked against the fighting beast. Todd let out a whoop of amazement when the beautiful rainbow-colored Mahi-mahi broke the surface, launching several feet into the air. As the fish fell back to the surface, its head shook angrily from side to side, trying to clear the hook.
The battle lasted 20 minutes. The fish would tire, allowing David to pull it slightly closer to shore. Something would motivate the catch again, and back into the deeper water the animal would race. While this ballet went back and forth several times, David was slowly winning. The beast only had so much energy, and the fight was wearing it down. David felt the effect as well, having to use his shirtsleeve to clear the sweat stinging his eyes
, but vowing not to give in first.
The brut finally ran out of gas, the last 100 yards to the beach nothing more than pulling in dead weight. Todd rode close to shore to get a better look at the catch while David reached for the steel leader attached to the heavy nylon strand.
The fish was a trophy. Almost four feet long with a solid girth, there was probably close to 20 pounds of mouth-watering fillet in just this single catch. For a moment, David thought about returning the animal to the sea. It was such a beautiful creature. He shook his head, comfortable with the fact that his kind needed the food.
As David unhooked his rig, another problem entered his mind. It was over a mile back to the boats and the day was getting hot. There was no way to ride the jet-ski carrying the poles, tackle and 40 pounds of scale-covered delicacy. “I’ll meet you back at the boats,” David yelled to his partner.
Hefting the prize over his shoulder, David started the long trek back to Crusoe.
Kemah Bay, Texas
June 11, 2017
Rose stared out the window at Charlie’s grave, absentmindedly noting the weeds fully covered what had been a hump of fresh dirt. Thinking of her husband’s death added little to the alre
ady deep despair she suffered.
T
he children and she hadn’t had anything to eat in over 10 days. The youngest had started coughing two, or was it three days ago? Rose couldn’t remember for sure. A while ago, she had gone to comfort the hacking child and found blood on the dishrag she was using as a handkerchief.
She consoled herself that the worst had passed for the children some days ago. They no longer played, or romped – neither having the energy to even complain - the older one claiming he was Superman and didn’t need food anymore. His younger sister went along with the act, claiming with honest eyes that she
just wasn’t hungry.