by Bobby Akart
“Do it,” he said after he cleared his throat.
Chapter 17
Day Fifty-Five
Denver Quarantine Center #1
Coors Field
Denver
Captain Kevin Hoover had just completed his morning briefing with his immediate subordinates when he received a call from the sentry posted at gate A of DQC1, formerly known as Coors Field. When the owners of the Colorado Rockies and their primary sponsor, Coors Beer, were unsuccessful in locating an operating court clerk’s office in which to file their complaint and request for an injunction against the government for seizing the facility, they sent in sign crews to remove their branding from the exterior. In the past, airlines involved in a crash would send teams to the crash site for the purposes of covering the airline’s logos with tarps or spray paint. A picture was worth a thousand words, and despite the catastrophic nature of the pandemic, both Coors and the Rockies wanted to ensure their brands were not tarnished by the quarantine stigma.
“Sir, the colonel is here with his aide,” said the guard. “We’ve provided them protective gear. They’re getting dressed now.”
“How many, Private?”
“Just two, sir. His Humvee is on standby with two uniformed MPs standing around it.”
“Thank you, Private.”
Captain Hoover walked over to the rail of The Rooftop, the open-air deck that now acted as the National Guard’s headquarters as the number of quarantine centers in the entertainment venues expanded to include Sports Authority Field and Dick’s Sporting Goods Park, the soccer complex.
Three days ago, the colonel expanded Captain Hoover’s scope of authority to include the other stadiums. Additional support staff and officers were assigned to his command. A skybox was also retrofitted to provide Captain Hoover sleeping quarters while on post. He was no longer comfortable going home to his family, and as part of the inducement to keep him in place, he’d asked the colonel for security to be posted at the Hoover home in Aurora.
This post was far worse than the tours of duty Captain Hoover had undertaken in the Middle Eastern theaters. As more and more people were crammed into DQC1, the sound levels grew to near deafening level. A baseball fan, Captain Hoover had attended many Rockies’ games at Coors Field, always choosing upper-level seating so he could take in the entire experience.
When the Rockies played in the World Series against the Red Sox, the noise level was measured at seventy-five decibels, the equivalent of standing twenty feet from a busy freeway. The noise at DQC1 had reached a similar level as the moans of pain and suffering from the sixty thousand dying people rose to a crescendo.
“Captain Hoover,” shouted the colonel as he and his aide exited the elevator.
Captain Hoover hesitated for a moment before being drawn away from the rail overlooking right field. He hadn’t admitted to anyone that the constant presence of death was having a profound effect on his psyche.
He turned and provided the colonel a snappy salute. “Welcome back, Colonel.”
“Thank you, Captain.” The colonel walked to the rail and studied the stadium.
“Sir, as you can see, we’re filled to capacity. We have several dozen teams of collectors, as the mayor calls them, dressed in yellow hazmat suits. Look along the right-field line, sir. Do you see them?”
“I do, Captain. Do they spend the entire day removing the dead bodies?”
“Twenty-four seven, Colonel. We can’t move the bodies out fast enough. Many of the infected volunteer to move the dead to a central location in exchange for additional meals. Because groups have become territorial, their assistance makes it safer for the collectors to do their jobs.”
The colonel pushed away from the rail and turned to Captain Hoover. “What do you mean by territorial?”
“Groups began to develop early on. People would segregate themselves by neighborhood, race, and even religious beliefs. For example, behind the Rockies dugout on this side of the press box, predominantly white families began to take up seating under the upper deck overhang in sections 221 through 227. Likewise, across the way behind the visitors’ dugout, Hispanic families took up the majority of the seating around the handicap rows. While it was odd to watch this develop, it was also a lesson on sociology, in a way.”
“What do you mean, Captain?” asked the colonel.
“Containment only works for people who are willing to be contained. Most of the people who are in this stadium came voluntarily to avoid infecting others while hoping that a vaccine or cure might help them. If they were forced here against their will, my job would be much more difficult.”
The colonel gave him a puzzled look, so Captain Hoover decided to stop the commentary. He found himself babbling on about the entire quarantine concept too much anyway.
“Captain, I assume the upper-level concourse is still open and secure,” said the colonel.
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s take a walk, alone.”
The two guardsmen walked toward center field until they stopped at a railing overlooking the Denver skyline in the distance. Smoke billowed up from several locations in the city, including the remnants of a ten-story high-rise office building that had caught on fire the night before. Sirens shrieked, creating an odd accompaniment to the wails of the dying behind them.
“Hoover, I’m going to get right to the point because, quite frankly, I want to get out of here. I suspect you do as well.”
Captain Hoover interrupted him. “Sir, I need to see my wife. I have a young boy, three years old, and a baby who miss their father. With cell service coming in and out, I can’t even speak to them.”
“Hoover, I understand. I will address that with you, but first I need to discuss your new orders.”
“Yes, sir. My apologies, sir,” said Captain Hoover.
“There has been a Level 6 order issued,” started the colonel.
“Level 6, sir?”
“Yes. I’d never heard of it before, and apparently it’s one of those highest-level-of-security, need-to-know-only protocols. When my superiors explained it to me, I understood why.”
“What does Level 6 mean, sir?”
The colonel leaned over the rail and looked at the mass of humanity crammed into the stadium. “Level 6 is an eradication order, son. It’s designed to eliminate any members of the public who are diseased or believed to be diseased.”
“Sir,” started Captain Hoover, genuinely shocked by what he’d just been told, “by elimination, do you mean killing people?”
“Yes,” the colonel replied. He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “As it’s been explained to me, it’s a directive issued by the United Nations in consultation with the World Health Organization. The members of the UN Security Council adopted the resolution in secret during the Ebola crisis. Its purpose is to preserve the human species in the event of a catastrophic disease pandemic, like this one.”
“How does killing people preserve life?” asked Captain Hoover.
“By eliminating the carriers of the disease, the uninfected have a greater chance of survival. The Level 6 order is designed to completely destroy any possibility for the disease to spread to healthy people.”
Captain Hoover walked away from the colonel. He unconsciously pounded the rail overlooking center field with the bottom of his fist as he went. He’d risked his life and lost contact with his family in an effort to quarantine and save lives. Now, the UN and the President, he assumed, were sentencing them to death. What happened to hope?
“Hoover,” said the colonel abruptly, “I was troubled by this at first until I thought it through. Come here, young man, and listen to me.”
Captain Hoover returned to the colonel. “Sir, I will not follow any unlawful order. It went against my pledges to God and country to participate in this quarantine. I am firmly against the concept of detention camps for American citizens, yet I agreed to this post because I thought it was going to help people survive. But I’ll not obey an order to
kill innocent Americans.”
“I understand your position, so hear me out. There is no vaccine or cure for the plague. People are dying by the millions every day around the world. Captain, I’m told that the world’s population has decreased from seven billion to less than three billion. Captain, are you hearing me? Four billion people dead! That’s billion with a great big capital B. And there’s no way to stop it except by separating the sick from the well.”
“But, sir,” started Captain Hoover before the colonel interrupted him.
“Don’t you see, there’s no other way. Level 6 was designed to deal with the very catastrophe we’re facing today. If we want mankind to survive, we have to do our duty.”
Captain Hoover walked away again. He allowed the colonel’s explanation to settle into his mind. He didn’t have the benefit of watching the news or receiving reports of the rate of death around the world. He had to trust the colonel.
“How am I supposed to carry out this order? Do I tell my men to lock and load, mow ’em all down like the dang Nazis in a concentration camp? That’s barbaric!”
“No, Captain,” the colonel said in a stern voice. He pointed to the sixty thousand plus inhabitants of DQC1. “Do you see these people? They’re dead anyway. If we didn’t add another person, all of these people would be dead within a week or so.”
Captain Hoover was beginning to understand the gravity of the situation. “That’s true,” he muttered.
“Over the next few days, more infected will be brought into the stadium. Medical personnel will begin administering lethal injections of potassium chloride to the new arrivals to hasten their deaths, which will occur within hours. Likewise, those in pain within the facility will be given the injection of potassium chloride together with a pain medication. Our logistics teams are being dispatched to each of the sports venues to block exits and fortify the concertina wire fencing around the facilities so that no one can leave.”
“You’re providing them death with dignity,” muttered Captain Hoover, with a sigh.
“Yes. Captain, I realize this order is a lot to ask of a young man with your character. I want to mention one more thing. The President is establishing safe zones throughout the country for our military personnel and their families. Granted, the accommodations may not be as nice as your home, but they’ll be guarded and disease-free. There’s space set aside for you and your family at the Air Force Academy campus down in Colorado Springs.”
Captain Hoover thought of his wife and babies. He wanted to keep them safe, but he was conflicted about the order to kill.
“Sir, what if I refuse this order? I mean, I don’t know if I can participate in killing my fellow American citizens.”
The colonel had the final word. “Well, then your space at the campus will be given to someone else.”
Chapter 18
Day Fifty-Six
Quandary Peak
Janie suited up to provide the boys their final quarantine medical evaluation. She was pleased to provide all of them a clean bill of health, which prompted hoots and hollers from everyone, including Flatus, who relished the chance to join in the excitement. Even typically unflappable Barb did a little happy dance and allowed their newfound friend to shower her with kisses.
Hunter took the time to shower off the manly odor as a result of his exile in the woods and then joined Mac in the basement to begin construction of the biolaboratory room. The two resisted the urge to spend some special quality time together, as Chris Harrison used to call it on The Bachelor. Mac had already been delayed for a few days and the entire trio of scientists in the house were anxious to test her new ideas.
“Mr. Hunter, is there anything that you’re incapable of doing?” asked Mac in her best imitate-the-TV-reporter voice. She turned the hammer upside down and thrust the handle towards Hunter’s face, imitating a forceful reporter with a microphone as she sought the answer.
“No comment,” he replied with a laugh. “Now, give me that hammer or you won’t get your lab.”
“Well, okay,” said Mac with a pout. She was torn between getting started on her project and playing with Hunter, who she’d missed for two days. She presented the hammer but stole a kiss as a consolation prize. “Here, nail me, stud.”
“Mac, focus.” He laughed as he took the hammer. Then he pointed two fingers at his eyes and then back to hers. “Fooocus.”
“Fine.” The pout expanded, which was awarded with another kiss.
Hunter had already affixed the studs to the concrete floor, using Liquid Nails and stud plate fasteners. He’d preassembled the walls on the floor and raised them one by one into place. As Mac held them steady, Hunter nailed them to the plates and the floor trusses supporting the kitchen above them.
“Mac, you know I only understand enough of the science behind all of this to be dangerous. Can you explain the new concept?”
“Okay,” started Mac. “Vancomycin is an antibiotic that’s been around since the fifties. It was typically used in hospitals as an intravenous, first-line treatment for bloodstream infections, including bacterial meningitis. With the increased use of penicillin, vancomycin fell out of favor except for severe cases associated with gram-positive bacteria like strep and staph infections. Now it’s considered an antibiotic of last resort like colistin.”
Hunter had her hold a wall in place as he climbed a ladder. He tapped the top plate to meet the chalk line and then pounded in the sixteen-penny nails. Even with the patio doors open, the loud noise created by his hammering forced them to stop talking as he nailed off the walls.
“Didn’t you say that the plague bacteria are gram-negative?” he asked as he descended the ladder.
“Yes, which makes this a bit of a stretch, but there’s more. Vancomycin was a very potent drug for its time. My thought is to beef it up. Using boy-talk, Y. pestis is notorious for being able to change and adapt to its attackers. What if we created a new challenger for the disease, one that fights it on three fronts?”
“Three against one? I like the numbers,” added Hunter. “How does it work?”
“I plan to genetically modify vancomycin by adding two additional ways to kill the Y. pestis bacteria. I want to marry peptides to the vancomycin.”
“What are peptides?” asked Hunter.
“Peptides are made from amino acids, organic compounds that are fundamental components of all cells. Peptides are two or more amino acids linked together in a chain that perform vital biological functions in our bodies by creating antibodies.”
“Eyes glossing over,” quipped Hunter as he measured and marked the plywood to affix to the stud walls. He chuckled to himself as he considered the dynamic between the two of them at this precise moment in the basement. Mac was completely at ease discussing peptides and amino acids, yet she wouldn’t have the first clue how to design and frame a simple room. On the other hand, Hunter easily went through the process of construction while having nary a clue about cellular biology.
“Sorry. Anyway,” Mac continued, “I am going to bind two peptides, D-ala and D-lac, both known for their ability to attack bacteria, with the active ingredients in vancomycin. If I’m right, a new antibiotic will be created that fights Y. pestis using three different mechanisms.
“One peptide will halt the cell wall construction necessary for Y. pestis to invade the body while the other will cause the outer wall membrane of the bacteria to leak, leading to cell death. The plague bacteria can’t simultaneously work to find a way around three independent mechanisms attacking it all at once. Even if the bacteria evolved and found a way to ward off one attack, it would still be killed by the other two.”
Hunter led Mac outside, where sawhorses were set up. She helped him place each piece of plywood on top and Hunter marked them after measuring twice. He fired up the circular saw and ripped them on the mark. As he carried them back inside, the conversation continued.
“Mac, this sounds very complicated.”
“It is,” said Mac. “I didn’t pr
opose it to the CDC because it’s a long shot and takes a lot of time to develop. Based upon my analysis, there are thirty chemical steps required to make the compound. The vancomycin will bind with the D-ala and D-lac peptides, inhibiting the spread of the Y. pestis bacteria in its human host through a process called GTFs.”
“What’s that stand for?” asked Hunter.
“It’s a mouthful. We’ll call it glycosyl transfer for short. It’s scientist stuff.”
Hunter set down the plywood and walked over to Mac, looking for a smooch. “Scientist stuff is sexy. It’s time for another kiss.”
Mac backed up several paces until she was trapped against the block wall. “No, you’re sweaty,” she protested.
Hunter wiped his face with his shirt and kissed her anyway. He whispered, “Keep talking and you might get lucky.”
“Keep hammerin’, or you won’t,” Mac shot back.
Chapter 19
Day Fifty-Six
CNN Studios
Atlanta
CNN host Reza Azlan was pleased to be invited back to CNN to host a special roundtable discussion with doomsday theorists and a representative from the Chicago-based Bulletin of Atomic Scientists. The Iranian-born intellectual scholar and former host of Believer, a documentary series about various religious traditions around the world, had been terminated by CNN following a series of highly inflammatory, disparaging tweets about the President in the aftermath of a terror attack in London. Because of the shortage of available hosts at CNN, Azlan was asked back to produce this special titled DOOMSDAY, The Clock Strikes Midnight.
The program began with an introduction of the guests, who’d traveled to Atlanta via Ted Turner’s former private jet. Following a break for a public service announcement about social distancing, Azlan continued the program.
