The Doomsday Infection (4 page)

The
top of his list would be a natural virus, Ebola or SARS, God forbid. The US could count itself lucky when it came to illnesses. When even today, one to two million people worldwide still die every year from malaria. Not forgetting influenza, that still had a habit of spreading around the globe culling the population in great numbers.

He contemplated phoning President Burgess
currently convalescing at his summer residence in Florida, not that the public knew the truth of his condition. As far as they were aware, he was suffering from a nasty bout of pneumonia. A select group knew that he’d had a heart attack - a big one - and that he was laid up and strapped to machines that kept him alive. He pressed a button on his desk and spoke to his secretary, “Get me the President.”

__________

14:30 PM

President Burgess’s beachside mansion stood north of Palm Beach on the east coast of Florida surrounded by the glamorous homes of the rich and famous. The President’s summer compound had the protection of the ocean on one side and high walls on the other. Regular military patrols guarded the gates and grounds. President James Burgess sat in his bed wired to the ever-present machinery.

He recognized the number showing on the screen of his
i-pad and connected excitedly. “Quinn, old buddy, how the devil are you?” the President said overjoyed to see the face of his old Harvard roommate on the screen.

Although both men were busy practically twenty-four hours a day they still managed to get in the odd round of golf when they could. However, he knew that he would not be calling to catch up, and knew it must be serious. “What’s the reason for this unexpected pleasure?”

“There’s been an incident down in Miami, Jim.”

“The riot, I saw it on TV.”

“Not the riot. This has the potential to be far, far worse.”

The President noted his friend’s hesitancy, and prompted. “Go on.”

“We might have an outbreak.”

“Where?”

“It’s concentrated at a hospital on a stretch of land off the coast.”

“Why hasn’t anyone told me?”

“Homeland security got wind of it and sat on it,” Quinn told him.

“Homeland security?” the
President said. He sat upright in his bed and one of the monitors started to ping rapidly. “Why?”

“They think it’s a terrorist attack.”

“Either way, no one’s told me.”

“Hamilton Parker knows, I understand.”

“The Vice President? Why tell the VP and not me?”

“He led us to believe he’s unofficially running the country due to your incapacity.”

“Watch him for me, would you? He’s one slippery sonofabitch. Terrorists or not, I should be told. I’m still the goddamned President, for Christ’s sake!” His face turned bright red. He clutched his heart and flopped back on the bed.

21.10 PM

“It’s better to leave it until nightfall,” Luke said. “Because the scuba-gear makes bubbles, and they’ll be harder to see in the dark.” They entered Big Benny’s Sporting Goods Store. The
store’s inventory mainly catered towards surfers, with the odd harpoon gun, and some diving paraphernalia. Luke picked up the harpoon gun and loaded it. “We might need this.”

Sophie regarded the scuba gear.
“I’m not so sure, I’ve never done this before, aren’t there rules, I mean, aren’t you meant to have lessons?”

“The river’s only ten foot deep. We’ll simply walk along the bottom unseen.”

“That IS brilliant.”

He beamed. “I told
ya,” he said and poked through the stock and found them a scuba-tank kit each. “You put this in your mouth,” he told her, showing her the breathing apparatus. “Breathe in and out and that’s all there is to it.”

A wild-eyed man leaped up from his hiding place behind the counter and pointed a flare-gun at them. “Freeze motherfuckers!”
He motioned for Luke to put the harpoon-gun down on the counter.

Sophie raised her hands tentatively. Luke ignored the man. “Luke, put your hands up,” she hissed.

“Why?”

“Because he has a gun.” She nodded towards it.

“That’s not a gun. It’s a flare.”

“It’s a phosphorus flare, if it doesn’t kill you outright, the flare would burn a hole right through your chest.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Fair enough.” He raised his one good arm.

The man screeched at them. “What have you done?”

Luke looked puzzled by the question at first, and then said. “This is nothing to do with us.”

“You work at the hospital. You must’ve leaked some chemical or something. My old lady is suffering bad.”

Sophie moved forward slightly. “Let me see her. I’m a Doctor.”

The man stepped back and pointed with his flare-gun to the woman laid prone on t
he floor behind the counter. One glance told Sophie all she needed to know, she shook her head gently.   “She’s too far gone. I can’t help. She’s got it.”

The man’s eyes widened. “What’s she got?”

She paused reluctant to say the words aloud, as if by not saying them would somehow stop the virus’s progress, but eventually she muttered, “The Bubonic Plague.”

The man wailed, tears streaked down his face and he raged again, thrusting his flare-gun in her face. “Make her better. I order you to make her better!”

“There isn’t a cure for this strain.”

“Make her better or I swear I’ll shoot you!” His knuckles whitened as they slowly pulled back on the trigger. . . .

CHAPTER 5

21.15 PM

Moored ten miles off the east coast of Florida, on the aircraft carrier USS Thomas Jefferson the crew prepared to lower a landing craft from the starboard bow. The three men inside were wearing gas masks. Commander Roscoe, a ramrod straight, silver haired man in his fifties addressed them. “You know why we’re doing this?”

“We’re mopping up the slop, sir.”

“That’s right. You must eliminate all the possible carriers.”

The three crewmen snapped to attention, “Aye, aye, sir.” They said in unison.

The Commander stared them in the eye. “You’re OK with this? You’ll be killing fellow Americans.”

“No problem, sir.”

“I can’t have you balk at the last moment.”

“I took an oath, Commander.”

Commander Roscoe felt uneasy. “This is why we’re leaving it until dark. We can’t be seen to be doing this. You understand why?”

The second lieutenant replied. “They’re either carrying the disease, or they’re the terrorists themselves, sir. I’ll mop up the slop. No problem. They’ve released a nerve agent. They’ve killed everyone on the island. They don’t deserve to live, sir. They’re traitors as far as I’m concerned. I’ll kill them as easy as stepping on a bug.”

“You’re to leave no one alive. Go to it.”

“Aye-aye, sir!”

21.20 PM

“Cool it, man,” Luke said firmly. The wild-eyed man point
ed the flare-gun at Luke and then back to Sophie again, unable to comprehend her words. “How can she have the plague?”

“Everyone upon the island has been exposed to it,” Sophie explained.

“Then, why ain’t we dead?”

“It’s ninety-nine percent fatal. We’re obviously immune.”

He waved the flare-gun furiously, “Cure her. Now.”

“She is too far gone, I’m sorry.”

His hand trembled and pointed the flare-gun at her, “Make her better, or I’ll kill you!”

“I can’t,” she said.

His body trembled and his eyes glared, he raised the gun to her head and his finger squeezed back on the trigger. . .when Luke snatched up a harpoon-gun and fired, the harpoon whooshed out and shot into the man’s chest, pinning him to the wall.

The wild-eyed man’s legs kicked and danced in his macabre death-throws. Blood gurgled from his mouth then he twitched for a moment.

Sophie found Luke outside throwing up. “You saved my life, thank you,” she said gratefully.

He looked at the vomit bashfully. “Must’ve been something I ate,”

She looked down at the puddle of vomit. “It looks like everything you ate,” she joked. “Still, proves you’re human,” she patted his back. “I thought you might’ve said some tough-guy corny line like, ‘stick around, dude,’” she mimicked his deep voice.

He clicked his fingers, “Oh man, I wish I had said that, let’s go back in.”

She rolled her eyes, “I think we should keep moving.”

21.25 PM

The navel landing craft bounced across the waves as it headed to shore. A gung ho kid scanned the beach back and forth with night vision goggles, and then shouted. “Gotcha!”

“How many?” asked the second lieutenant.

“Two of ‘
em. Man and woman.”

The gunner operating
the forward-mounted machine-gun braced himself, as the boat hopped a large wave. He steadied himself and prepared to fire.

“Let’s get ‘
em,” The gung ho kid whooped with glee at the thought of the coming action.

“Ready?” the second lieutenant asked and the threesome touched knuckles, “OK, let’s light ‘
em up.”

With a loud bang, he fired a flare that zoomed into the night sky.

__________

Luke and Sophie strol
led bare-foot at the water’s edge feeling the sand between their toes and the tide lapping at their ankles, looking like newly-weds without a care in world. They carried the scuba-tanks and passed discarded jet skis.

“If I’m right,” she said. “It is going to be a pandemic like the world has never seen. We are going to need a massive quarantine of the infected, mass evacuations of the uninfected, and then we need to develop a cure for this new strain of plague.”

“How hard can it be?” he said with nonchalance.

She looks at him incredulously.

“I’ll give it a go.”

She laughed. “You idiot,”
she playfully hit him on the arm.

He winced. “
Argh!”

“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry.” She touched his injured arm and baby-talked him, teasing. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, of course it damn well hurts. I had half a helicopter smash through my arm.”

“Half!” she laughed and punched him again, then immediately reali
zed her mistake but couldn’t stop herself from laughing, and felt something pass between them.

He pulled her in close to him. “I just want to say –” with an
enormous ground shaking bang a flare burst above their heads flooding the area in bright light. “- Shit.”

Machine-gun bullets plopped into the water a few yards from them. Quick as a flash, Luke jumped onto the ink-black Kawasaki Jet Ski and fired it up, “Get on!”

She leaped onto the back and they sped away, with the machine gun bullets slapping into the water inches from them.

Luke zigzagged away as the flare dimmed. He saw the high-powered searchlight ahead, banked stee
ply nearly tipping them off, then corrected the maneuver successfully. He opened the throttle fully and headed for the nearby coastline when the landing craft sailed into their path.

On the landing craft, the searchlight picked them out only yards ahead. “There!” said the gunner pointing out the fugitives. He spun the mounted machine-gun around, but his colleagues were in his line of fire.

The second lieutenant noticed and pulled hard down on the wheel to turn the craft around. Luke swerved to dodge the landing-craft and realized they were about to cross the craft’s wake, he stood to take the impact of the wave, Sophie followed suit, as the first wave hit they took off, soared ten feet into the air and crunched back down onto the ocean still in one piece.

“Oh,
maaan, that was awesome! Wanna do it again?”

The lumbering landing craft was slower to change direction than the zippier Jet ski, which Luke used to his full advantage. He aimed at the beach and drove hell for leather towards the target, not letting up on the throttle e
ven as they made land. The Jet ski cut a groove up the beach until they came to a grinding halt and fell unceremoniously onto the sand. They lay on the beach, catching their breath, before remembering they were still in danger.

Nearby tourists rushed to them, some to help, others to film them with their camera-phones. Sophie and Luke mingled with the crowd that thronged along the promenade, although he was still easy to spot wearing his hospital gown.

Hard as Luke tried to blend in with the crowd, the machine-gunner still sought him out, had him in his crosshairs and readied to shoot, when his Superior put his hand on the barrel forcing him to lower his weapon. “Not in front of witnesses – besides you can tell they’re not the terrorists.”

“How come, lieutenant?” asked the Gunner.

“Because they’re white.”