First Weeks After

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First Weeks After Page 23

by Jay Vielle


  “So now, they will try some experimental drugs to see if they can return Laura Fisher to normal?” my mom asked.

  “Yes. We know that one of them treats Ebola and makes it noncontagious. The other reverses the effects of radiation sickness. Technically, she doesn’t have either, but the strange combination of the two things has caused a small percentage of the population to look and act like they do,” I said.

  “And they have no idea why some of them are like Laura, and others are more like apes?” my dad said.

  “Not yet, no. I imagine it has something to do with genetics, but they’d have to do lots, lots, more testing to know that, or even scrape the surface,” I said.

  “How long will the testing take for Laura?” my mom asked.

  “They don’t know that either. All of this is brand new stuff, and the Colonel and his assistant were on the front lines of this last week,” I said.

  “I have so many questions, mijo,” my mother said. “We went underground with no news of any kind for nearly two weeks. What happened to the president? Or Congress?”

  “Nobody knows. It’s been surreal, ma,” I said. “We hear some things, but not everything. This lack of communication has been very, very creepy. I mean, usually we hear from the president like two or three times a day.”

  “How is everyone not panicking? I would think that just a few days of that would create chaos,” my father said.

  “Well, it did,” I said. “Just a couple of days after it happened, Jake had to fight a bunch of looters in front of the high school.”

  “Oh my Heavens,” my mother said. “Was he hurt?”

  “No. Jake made it out okay,” I said.

  My mom stared at me awkwardly.

  “And?” she said.

  “He killed two out of the three of them and maimed the third,” I said.

  “Madre de Dios,” my father said.

  “He also ran into a gang at the Wal-Mart in town,” I added.

  “And?” my mother said again.

  “Similar results,” I added. My mother crossed herself.

  “Are you sure it’s safe to be around him?” my mother asked.

  “Ma, if you’re on his side, it might be the safest place right now, period,” I said.

  “I see your point. But where are the authorities? The government? Is no one taking control of things? It seems like we would be hearing something,” my mother added.

  “So it’s been a week now, and there is no word from anyone in power?” my father asked.

  “Nothing. But most of our communication has been damaged or destroyed. Everything is completely up in the air. It’s so random—some people’s phones work, others don’t, some work sometimes. I’m lucky that mine got your message. It’s the same way with cities. Some are completely devoid of life. Frederick is a ghost town. So is Washington, Columbia, Baltimore. But Emmitsburg survived, and the places we went to in the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia were almost untouched. It’s all so strange.”

  “And no new attacks?” my father asked.

  “Not here at least. Not that we know of. But if you think about it, with limited communications, how would we know if New York got obliterated right now?”

  “Good point,” my father said. “These are strange times we live in, mijo.”

  “For all we know now, Papá, the president could be sitting in the White House or dead in Camp David. With no way to broadcast anything with certainty, it’s difficult to be sure of anything,” I said.

  “Didn’t you say you actually saw a cable broadcast? Isn’t that where you saw Laura Fisher?” my father corrected me.

  “Well yes, but it seemed to be pre-recorded and a one-time deal. Nothing is steadily up and running yet,” I said.

  They do have the Emergency Broadcast System going, and they mentioned cities under Marshall Law, but that came out a week ago. This is out on AM and FM radio. And the local cable thing, I’m not sure that is even going to continue. It’s just hard right now to know anything.”

  I got up and walked over to the television and turned it on. The channel had a large black spot on top and rainbow-colored lines at the bottom. I tried two more stations and got the same thing. Then I shrugged towards my parents and sat back down.

  “So what will happen now with Jake’s wife?” my mom asked.

  “They will treat her with the combination of experimental drugs and see if any of the effects are reversed or improved,” I said. “The Colonel and Wendy were going to begin that process fairly soon.”

  “Where are the Fishers?” My dad asked.

  “In the lab with Laura, Wendy, and Col. Cannaveral,” I replied.

  “When and how are they getting back to Emmitsburg?” my dad said.

  “I don’t know. And before you ask me—I don’t know how we’re getting back, either.”

  Just then, the television station made a fuzzy noise, and suddenly gone was the black square with the rainbow stripes, and in front of us was our president. The man who had been missing for nearly a week. The man I held responsible for the war we were now in. The man who, ordinarily, I couldn’t stand listening to. But now, I was rapt. He tapped the microphone to test it, then began.

  My fellow Americans. We are in the midst of something history has never recorded before, a third World War. The United States has been attacked by a coalition of countries bent on destroying us, our way of life, and the freedoms we all enjoy. I cannot, we cannot, allow this to happen. Last week, coordinated missile attacks struck U.S. targets here and abroad from sources that included Russia, China, North Korea, Iran, Cuba, and Venezuela. Thousands of Americans are dead, hundreds of communication satellites have been destroyed, and our way of life has been threatened. This week I have been meeting in a secret location with our Joint Chiefs of Staff and my cabinet, as well as member of Congress. I am authorizing massive counter-strikes to each of those countries at strategic locations aimed at maximizing tactical destruction. Make no mistake, we are at war. As we begin to rebuild our country, I will be calling on all of your to do your part to defend the United States of America. There will be another message later tonight. Until then, God Bless America, and God Bless all of you.

  “Holy shit,” I said.

  “Eduardo,” my mother jumped in.

  “I’m sorry mom, but here we are talking about the president being missing and suddenly there he appears, large as life. I couldn’t tell where he was. Could you?” I said.

  “That’s probably on purpose,” my father said. “I wish he had more information for us. I guess he doesn’t want to broadcast long from any one location or he could be tracked and located.”

  “But still,” I said, “he officially declared it, didn’t he? He said we are at war.”

  “He also said he sent counter-strikes. I wonder what that means,” my father said.

  “It means the shit has officially hit the fan,” I said. “Sorry mom. We’re gonna need an extraction plan ASAP.”

  CHAPTER 30

  “Da, tovarich, I understand,” said Oleg into his phone. “Pazhowsta. Do spidanya.”

  “Well, do you know the contacts for your strike team?” Father Joe asked.

  “Yes. I have them all now. We have been compartmentalized together for the foreseeable future. But they no longer concern you, I’m afraid,” Oleg said.

  “What do you mean? What’s going on?” Father Joe asked.

  “A great deal. Your president has just surfaced. He is alive. He provided a brief broadcast, discussing the country’s situation and his decision to launch counter-strikes,” Oleg said.

  “Why should I care what the president said? I mean, about our situation. My situation. Are they sending someone to silence those people? Father Joe asked.

  “Because even though his broadcast was too short to trace, experts are narrowing down the list of places he could be based on the strength and type of the transmission, as well as the visible background behind him. One of those possible locations is Camp David,” Oleg
said.

  “Again, why do I care about that?” Father Joe said.

  “Because this changes everything. Now the strike force has a new directive, and will be headed up by very specific and important people. Your problem is now less of a concern for us. This takes precedence,” Oleg said.

  “Someone has to stop those people from running their mouths or this whole thing collapses,” Father Joe yelled.

  “You can always do it yourself,” Oleg said. “Or are you too high and mighty to get your hands dirty?”

  “Me? Me, kill them? That’s why we have you here, remember?” Father Joe yelled.

  “I am here to serve at the pleasure of the Kremlin. If my orders change, they change. You forget, the reason we reached out to you at all in the first place is because this town is right next to Camp David. We could not go to Thurmont, as it is too close and would be too easy to surveil, but Emmitsburg is far enough away that secret service and military will be less wary of it. And we had to send some type of strike at Camp David to make them raise their defenses and reach a state of false confidence, which is why we were forced to protect that nearby town from potential damage. All of that has happened now. The strike force and I now have new orders, and silencing kids who don’t understand what they found is not among them. If we are successful, I will discuss your situation with you. But for now, you are on your own,” Oleg said.

  “Oleg, I understand your situation. I really do. But what do you think is going to happen when the president gets wind of a plot to save a town by preemptively filling its water tower with anti-radiation and anti-Ebola treatments? If you think it is going to be hard to get to him now, what do you think it will be like then? My problem is small. Easily solved by someone like you. It’s barely a blip on the radar now, but if it grows, who do you think they’re going to blame if it ruins their plans to assassinate the president?”

  Oleg turned to face Father Joe. He thought about the last statement. He pressed his lips tightly together and flared his nostrils. Then he nodded slightly.

  “You have a point. If this does get away from us and draws attention to us, it could be very disappointing. And you are right. I will be blamed,” Oleg said.

  “I’m glad you agree,” Father Joe said. “How long can it take? Track three people and silence them, once and for all.”

  “Give me a moment,” Oleg said, and he walked outside Father Joe’s office and went downstairs into the secret conference room. He dialed the number of one of his team that was awaiting orders in Northern Virginia, and who had been leaderless since Sergei had been murdered last week. Oleg explained the situation to the man on the phone, and in a few minutes they had reached an agreement with them. Then he came back up the stairs and into the pastor’s office.

  “I have spoken with them, and they seem to agree that this could be a problem, but they also agreed it was one that could be easily fixed,” Oleg said.

  “Excellent. I will be looking forward to having them here to finish the job you started,” said Father Joe.

  “Fair enough. But this will cost you. Each man on my team who performs this service for you shall receive an additional five thousand dollars for each successful execution. This point is non-negotiable, and we will not discuss it with my superiors in any way. Are we understood?” Oleg asked.

  “Fifteen thousand? I can do that. The church has deep reserves, and they’re only going to grow bigger. Very well, we have an accord. Now, how long will it take your strike team to get here?” Father Joe asked.

  “Four to five hours. And I intend to spend most of that time coming up with possible places for them to be hiding. And you are going to help me. Contact your church members and your friend Wes at the high school. They know what all three of them look like. I need possible locations right away.”

  Father Joe got on the phone and asked his receptionist to get Wes Kent on the line.

  “Wes? Joe Clarque here. How are you?”

  “How am I? Phenomenal. After that meeting, the town is totally turning around. Soon, New Plymouth will be a much bigger dot on the map than Emmitsburg ever was,” said Wes.

  “Agreed, and thank you. I need to see several of you fairly quickly. Can you round up the troops for me? I need the same people who helped me with preparations for the meeting. The men, please. Something’s come up,” Father Joe said.

  “Sure thing, Padre,” said Wes. “Who are we thinking? The usual suspects? Billy, Me, Emory, Lou, Pablo and John?”

  “Those are precisely the people I’m thinking of,” said Father Joe.

  “How about Mark? Mark Longaberger. I haven’t seen him for a day or so,” said Wes.

  “Precisely the reason I’m calling you,” the pastor said. “Mark has disappeared, and I fear foul play. I need you all to help me find him. Along with some others he’s with.”

  “Okay, will do padre. But, uh, do you mind explaining what you mean? What kind of foul play are you talking about?” said Wes.

  “You remember Pablo’s daughter and her…girlfriend?” said Father Joe.

  “Yes. Abomination,” said Wes. “Truly an abomination.”

  “Well, as Pablo will attest, we caught them snooping around the church office the other day attempting to steal passwords and information from us,” said Father Joe.

  “Oh my God,” said Wes. “That’s unbelievable.”

  “Pablo was there. He can tell you. Well, we decided to prosecute them—with Pablo’s blessing of course. My thought was that a misdemeanor crime for two misguided youths might be just the wake up call that they need to turn themselves around so that they can serve the Lord better and not turn astray,” said Father Joe.

  “A fine idea, Padre. How did it go?” asked Wes.

  “Unfortunately, on the way to the sheriff’s office, they enlisted the help of Mark Longaberger to aid them. Mark snuck up from behind and bashed Oleg on the head with a rock, and then helped the girls escape. Nearly killed poor Oleg. It’s awful. Just awful,” said Father Joe.

  “Oh my God,” said Wes. “That, that’s horrible. Just horrible. I can’t believe that happened. You know, I never trusted that man. Saw through him from the very beginning. I know you had faith in him, but I never trusted him.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Well, he has certainly broken faith with me. Now all three of them are fugitives,” Father Joe said. “And that’s why I need you all. I want you to scout around, use your eyes, ears, and connections, and find out where they are. We’ll let the…authorities deal with them, but you all can be the bloodhounds that help the police find the perpetrators.”

  “Wow. Okay. I’ll assemble the team pronto,” said Wes.

  “My eternal thanks Wes. And keep this between us. It’s a black eye on the community, and we’ve done such good work today,” said Father Joe.

  “Absolutely, Padre. Mum’s the word. Half an hour in your office, then?” said Wes.

  “Yes. And bring three vehicles. We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Father Joe said.

  “Gotcha. We’ll be there. We’re the best bloodhounds in town, don’t you worry,” said Wes.

  “I’m counting on it,” said Father Joe.

  CHAPTER 31

  At the Pentagon, the president’s appearance was a big deal. There were a few, I’m sure, who knew exactly where he was and how he was doing, but the overall reaction by people I saw walking in the halls, going in and out of bathrooms, hanging out near the labs—were all one of patriotic defiance of our enemies and a cheer for the president.

  I’ve mentioned before—he’s not my favorite. But despite all of my feelings for him, it was kind of hard not to unite just at the sight of him. His brief broadcast was enough to let our enemies that they had failed to cut the head off the snake, and that the snake planned retaliation. I had not been around too many military types in my life. Many of them prove to be less than supportive of homosexuality, and the worst of them go way past homophobia and into hatred and bigotry. But what I was experiencing right then was hard for me
to explain.

  I’ve never been a flag-waving patriot. I see America from the perspective of one who is glad he was born here and not some religion-driven third world country, but who has no trouble calling America on its unresolved issues and massive blunders in its four-hundred-year-old history. I do not give us a free pass on Native Americans, African slavery, women’s rights, gay rights, or the massive separation between the economic classes. That said, America is my home, and my preference. But right then—I wanted to suit up and go after the enemy. Any enemy. I was united with everyone there. We all shared America as our rallying cry. I can’t explain it, but I felt it. Deeply.

  For the Colonel, however, the defiant fist shake was brief, and he was back to work in short order. He was out in the giant tent village created by CBYRNE brigade 20, and was walking around the areas where his test subjects—five mutates—were lying sedated on beds with a number of tubes dripping into their veins. The one closest to the center of the main tent was Laura Fisher. Jake, Tommy, and Vinny all stood their staring at her. It was a strange sight. I had left my parents in the office and come out to check on the Fishers, and what I found was difficult to see. Three men I saw as family were standing bedside with faces of stone. They were staring down at Laura. Wendy was on the far side of the bed checking vials for amounts, concentrations, and proper seals.

  “What’s the procedure?” asked Jake.

  “Well, first, Jake, we’re going to experiment on that other leader that we captured earlier today. If there are any problems or bad reactions, we can see on him first before we proceed with Laura. I’m just checking her sedation level now to make sure she’s stabilized while we see how things go with the others first,” said Wendy gently.

  “We’ve already tried the protocols with the lower more apelike mutates. We can make them not contagious, but so far the anti-radiation treatments haven’t done anything yet,” said the Colonel.

 

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