The Doomsday Infection (10 page)

He cried out in anguish as the skin on his chin tore open. “For the love of god have mercy! Kill me!”

Sophie steeled her resolve, aimed, but then lowered the weapon. . . .

CHAPTER 11

23:00 PM

At the radar station aboard the aircraft carrier USS Thomas Jefferson the
Boeing 777 Flight 416 returning to Miami blipped on the radar screen monitored by the signalmen, who calculated its position ten miles from shore, five minutes from landing. Commander Roscoe leaned over intensely staring at the blip on the radar monitor. He bellowed into an internal phone, red-faced in anger at the young gunner at the other end of the line who disobeyed him. “That is an order! Fire the missile, now!”

Gunner
Lofthouse operating the surface-to-air Sea Sparrow anti-aircraft missile trembled and shook his head. “I can’t do it, Sir, that’s an American civilian airplane, I will not murder Americans in cold blood!”

“
I’m coming down there and if you haven’t blasted that aircraft to kingdom come I will shoot you, then I’ll shoot it down myself. Is that clear?”

The young gunner visibly paled. His colleague said. “You should do it. W
e’ve been given an order.”

“T
hen the order is wrong. Maybe it’s a trick?” squeaked Gunner Lofthouse, as his mouth dried up, knowing he’d ruined his career and would spend many years in a brig, but still he could not bring himself to fire on fellow Americans.

“They are no longer American they are a cargo of death, carrying the Bubonic Plague. Our task is to remove them from American soil. You should follow your orders,” urged his colleague as other sailors crammed into the small metal room. They could not believe their ears, firstly to hear that they were firing on a civilian American aircraft and secondly that gunner
Lofthouse had disobeyed a direct order.

__________

Commander Roscoe’s ramrod straight figure filled the doorway, there was an audible intake of breath as the men shrank away from him. “Bring that plane down, now! You shoot down that goddamn aircraft before it reaches land, I command you!”

The gunner turned puce but shook his head, defiantly. “Negative Commander.”

“You follow my order, or suffer the consequences.” He unclipped his firearm to emphasize the point and glared at him menacingly.

“Then, you’re
gonna have to shoot me, bec -”

The gunshot echoed around the small chamber. Gunner
Lofthouse slumped over dead, blood arcing from the small hole in his temple.

T
he commander turned to the others. “Move this piece of shit - quick!” the sailors stood frozen in shock for a long moment, then jolted into action and swiftly pulled gunner Lofthouse’s corpse clear. Commander Roscoe jumped into the vacant seat and noted perversely that it was still warm. He spun around, locked onto flight 416 and took aim. . . .

CHAPTER 12

23:15 PM

“Flight 416, please respond.” The air traffic controller kept up his monotonous appeal.

“We’re still too high, you’re going to kill us all,” said the A
sian man, in a state of panic, as he broke into a sweat.

Luke ignored the comment and tried to concentrate
, feeling the stiffness in the steering column. “If I go much lower we won’t see the runway.”

“You need to lose height, look at the monitor.”

Luke threw a quick glance at the screen and saw that they were indeed too high. “Sheila would you read off the dial to me?” Luke asked.

“Airspeed, one hundred and ninety knots,” she said.

Too fast, he cursed to himself, pulling back on the yoke to correct the path of descent dropping the nose of the Boeing 777 significantly losing height rapidly, the four enormous engines screamed in protest, but they were descending much too quickly. A warning buzzer filled the cockpit alarming him greatly, putting fraught nerves even further on edge. “Airspeed. Airspeed. Airspeed,” it repeated continually. He grimaced and fought with the controls to level out the giant beast.

“We are all going to die!” screamed the Asian.

“We ain’t gonna die,” said Luke calmly, but silently cursing the idiot. He smiled confidently at Sheila to reassure her of their safety, when another looped taped message kicked in, continually informing them that they were going to stall.

23:20 PM

“Shit,” said Commander Roscoe removing his finger from the trigger. “We’re too late.  That airplane would explode over the city now.” He leaped from his seat went outside and kicked the corpse of gun
ner Lofthouse. “Look, what you’ve done, you piece of shit. You’ve only gone and lost me my promotion, entirely right too, in my opinion. What sort of commander am I, if I can’t get my subordinates to follow simple instructions. Maybe I’ve been too soft.” He saw a look pass between the men as if this was anything but the truth. Most were staring in disbelief at the corpse of their comrade and friend. “Well,” he said, pointing at the carcass of the gunner. “You can see what I think of sailors disobeying my commands. Am I clear on this?” he snarled at the assembled men. They muttered quietly. “I said, ‘do I make myself clear?’”

“Crystal, sir,” they said loudly in unison.

“We’ve got a few minutes before the next airplane is over land. We’re going to shoot this bastard down and this time they’ll be no mistakes.”

23:25 PM

“Full flaps,” Luke said more to himself and he carried out the action.  Almost immediately, a synthesized voice filled the cockpit, “Airspeed! Airspeed!” Luke took evasive action, corrected the speed, making the electronic voice stop.

He took a deep breath, as he averted another disaster. He pulled back calmly on the yoke until the noise stopped and then continued a gently, controlled descent.

Sheila said, “I’ve done this flight hundreds, if not, thousands of times. I know where the runway is, you’ll see it any moment.”

“You get us to the runway, baby, and I’ll land it.”

The Asian man spoke urgently. “Lose more speed! Lose mor
e speed!” He tapped the monitor plotting their course. “Otherwise you are going to overshoot the runway and kill us!”

Luke rolled his eyes, took a swift glance at the monitor to confirm what the man had said and gently pulled back on the yoke having a feel for the controls, he made small adjustments and the airplane responded smoothly.

The skyscrapers of lower Miami loomed closer into view and Luke thought they were far too close to the airport. What had the city planners been thinking? Had they not anticipated such a drama as they were experiencing? Why take the risk? Then it came to him, of course, the all-powerful dollar, pack more buildings in, meaning millions of dollars passing through greasy palms, all for profit. Still, no point worrying about it now, he thought. He corrected the angle of attack to miss the tall skyscrapers as they looked for visual contact of the runway and the craft lowered farther still.

“Flight 416, do not attempt to land.” Cut in the air traffic controller. “I repeat, do not attempt to land.”

“What the fuck does he want us to do, stay up here all night?!”

“There!” pointed Sheila excitedly, she spotted the runway lit up and lined with fire trucks and other emergency vehicles. Luke let out a huge sigh of relief at the welcoming sight and knew he could get the beast down on the ground, when the lights went out on the runway leaving him literally flying blind.
             

CHAPTER 13

23:30 PM

In the Oval Office at the White House in Washington, Vice President Hamilton Parker slumped wearily into the most powerful seat in the world. “Now, this is more like it.” He rubbed his hands together in glee. He’d only been the acting President for less than half a day and already he had made decisions that would change history, and goddamn, it felt good!

Hamilton had never doubted that he would one day sit in the Oval Office, as if pre-ordained. His family money, or more precisely his father, had oiled the wheels of the colossal machinery, which led the way to his rise to the top, making sure he was at the right events, dated the right sort of celebrity, and got his name in the papers as much as possible. All he had to do was keep his nose clean, not such an easy task considering he had such a wayward streak. Although
, it was mostly misdemeanors that had in fact boosted his appeal with some of the voters. No one wanted a squeaky-clean candidate, as long as it was the ‘right’ sort of trouble. A night in the tank through too much booze and not drugs was fine. A brawl with immigrants was also fine, but nothing untoward involving the gentler sex. Although there had even been one or two occasions of that, and, once again his father had stepped in and made the right donations to the right sort of police benevolent fund and the trouble went away.

He knew he lived a charm
ed life; he sailed through college, and had a natural aptitude for history he studied at Harvard, scraping through as he only applied minimal effort, then onto Oxford, where he scraped through again with an acceptable grade.

F
rom Oxford to foreign climes, he volunteered with the ‘right’ sort of charity organization. He’d help to re-build houses for the homeless after a hurricane, always a fantastic photographic opportunity, and not doing anything remotely dangerous.

His silver-spoon upbringing had given him a love of the ocean and he'd sail the family yacht when
ever possible, or speed in one of their fleet of luxury cars.

Too young for the first Gulf War, he busied himself at Oxford during the second. However, he did make a name for himself as a flyer for the National Guard, with tons of photos of him in his smart uniform,
or in the pilot seat, had the national press drooling for more. In fact, his career boiled down to that one set of photos, that and his boyish grin, and a passing resemblance to JFK, had him firmly in the right place at the right time for the presidency nomination.

Each event he attended forthrightly promoted, a
s he preached for a new America, an America to be proud of, and an America that could hold its head up on the world stage. Moreover, he was the man that would regain America’s place as the world leader in every field, without exception. He advocated a new America, a time for the old regime to admit it had failed and step aside. The media lapped up his sound bites and they got behind him on his campaign for a brighter future, and rallied behind him as the man to lead the way. He was far ahead in the polls and about to accept the nomination, when the aging old guard sprung their choice for Presidential candidate in the form of James Burgess. He was staid, casual, sensible, like an elderly uncle, or even a granddad with his silver fox hair, and old style movie star looks, a latter day Cary Grant. He instantly appealed to the older taxpayer and the swaying voter. He even delivered his speeches from a rocking chair! His slow, thoughtful style of delivery, reminded the voters of better times. Of old America, a safe America, of an America that cared, and he breezed though for the nomination of the Republican party, he accepted that a young voter wanted what Hamilton had to deliver, and offered him to join him as his running mate.

At first, Hamilton refused, furious at the turncoat American electorate. How could the voters be so fickle? One minute fawning over him like a rock star, the next treating him like last weeks’ news. How dare they? They wanted him for their second choice? Second choice? Hamilton had never been second to anything or anyone.

His father pointed out he would be the second most powerful man in the western hemisphere, and that he would be in the thick of it in Washington, listening, learning and waiting, because as his father told him, President Burgess was
very
old. Older than that old fool Regan when he took office.  His father had it on good authority that the President was suffering with a dodgy ticker that he covered up and hid from the good American public. The information was gold, and they decided to sit on it until the right time. He would wait and be ready for the fateful day, or if it didn’t happen quickly enough, then who knew . . . accidents can happen.

23:40 PM

“
Maaan!” Luke exclaimed. “Those bastards!” He strained his eyes to where the runway and their safety had been.

“We’re all going to die!” yelled the Asian man, assuming the crash position.

Sheila nervously asked. “What are you going to do?”

Luke kept to the pre-arranged descent. He scanned the area in front of them as they passed close to the first of the skyscrapers, he then had an idea and smirked. “Well, luckily they haven’t thought to turn off the fire-trucks lights, I’ll aim alongside them.”

“Terrific!” Sheila said.

“Read off the dials for me please.”

“Altitude, one hundred feet. Airspeed, one hundred and thirty knots.”

He lowered the craft, and almost immediately, a synthetic voice blared around the cockpit. “Landing gear! Landing gear!”

He frantically searched for the control, and saw the giant lever and grabbed for it, “Here goes,” he said and lowered the wheels, which locked noisily into place. “Good luck everyone.” The runway was just below the front of the Boeing. He gritted his teeth as the Boeing 777 bounced with a painful screech of the tires, onto the tarmac, then surprisingly the aircraft took off again, Luke pulled on the controls and lowered the nose and the wheels bounced once again. This time the landing was so hard that luggage fell from the overhead lockers behind them, until finally they were down.

However, they were still hurtling towards the perimeter fence at a breakneck speed. Luke threw the engines into reverse, which s
creamed in protest, throwing them forward, as the aircraft slowed, but they were still too fast.

With a gut-wrenching, deathly squawk the wheel assembly below them snapped.  The front of the airplane hit the runway with a horrific squealing of
metal, sparks flew from the impact and Luke feared that the aircraft might ignite and explode.

Sheila copied the Asian man and took up a crash position. The
Boeing 777 lurched to the right, the wing tip dragging along the tarmac slowing them further. Sparks ignited the engines on the starboard wing. The glow from the flames illuminated their way. Luke no longer had the ability to steer but struggled with the controls anyway. The noise of the metal screeching along the tarmac filled the cockpit adding to the feeling that they had descended into hell as four hundred tons of twisted metal hurtled along the runway at over one hundred miles an hour, with the rescue vehicles trying to keep pace with them. It shot off the runway into a sand bank at the end of the tarmac purposefully built for this scenario, and over the ditch and into the perimeter fence. The hulking great metallic beast snapped through the perimeter fence with ease and into the grass field beyond, cutting a semicircular groove into the grass until it lost its momentum and finally ground to a halt.

Sheila drew on her years’ of experience and decades of practice
and engaged the emergency exit hatch, which in turn banged loudly as it ignited the emergency chute. She stood back and indicated for the Asian man to go first. He gratefully took her up on her offer and jumped onto the chute. “Cross your arms,” she shouted after him. He screwed up his eyes, as he whooshed down the cute to the safety of the ground.

Luke nodded for Sheila to go next, she wasted no time arguing with him and she hurtled effortless
ly down the chute. He waited for her to clear the bottom, then launched himself after her and moments later he hit the ground hard and tumbled over and over.  Sheila helped him up from the tarmac, and he brushed himself down and checked for bruises.

The Asian hugged him. I knew you’d do it! Bless you! Bless you!”

Sheila held out her arms to him, and then stopped remembering that she had the dreadful disease.

Luke grinned at her. “Don’t worry about it, not after all we’ve been through.” He hugged her with all his might.

The Asian man gave her a perfunctory handshake. “Madam, it’s been a pleasure,” he said politely, then quickly wiped his hand down his leg.

Luke saw
the emergency vehicles sprinting toward them and let out a sigh of relief as they were finally, thankfully, unbelievably, safely on the ground. Despite the odds and despite the ATC’s attempt to destroy him and he took a few moments to enjoy the feeling, when suddenly he heard a boom and saw a surface-to-air missile blast an airplane from the night sky. The airplane disintegrated mid-air and the raging fireball fell harmlessly into the ocean. His mouth dropped open in horror, and he watched stunned as the debris fell from the heavens.

He slowly turned
his eyes from the god-awful scene to the arriving vehicles and his heart sank further. They were not ambulances to take them to the safety of a hospital, but military vehicles, each with a soldier standing with a rifle trained upon them.