There were new fires burning in Washington, despite the best efforts of the fire department. The shortage of food was beginning to bite, according to the media, and he knew that they were underestimating the situation. The starving crowds had attacked army vehicles, stealing food and water before running back into the suburbs and distributing it themselves. Only a heavy cordon around the White House and the other government buildings had prevented them from being overrun by the mob. Nicolas had heard that it was worse in other cities. There were even reports that some desperate people had resorted to eating their pets, or even cannibalism.
He gazed down at a soup kitchen as the helicopter began its descent. It was a sight out of nightmare, or out of the Third World, not the United States. Whatever many politicians had claimed over the years, the poor in the United States lived far better than the poor – or even the wealthy – in many Third World states. That wasn’t true now. The United States was becoming a land of starvation, with hunger threatening more people than Henderson’s Disease. The army cordons surrounding the cities were reporting more attacks against their patrols, attacks composed of people desperately trying to break out and escape into the countryside, where they were sure there was a land of milk and honey. He tried to push the thought out of his head as the helicopter landed and the Secret Service vetted him quickly; it was too much to handle. His father had come to the United States in hopes of a better life; his son would inherit a broken land. Silently, he cursed Prince Mukhtar under his breath.
“Madam President,” he said, as he was escorted into the Oval Office. “I'm afraid I have bad news.”
The President listened tiredly as he told her about how Miss Henderson had died, without even the hope of a cure. Wildfire, the CDC and every other research company in the United States – if not the world – was searching for a cure, but so far nothing had materialised. Mass production of the vaccine had begun, at least, but distributing it was the real problem. There were even reports of people refusing to be vaccinated, despite the fact that anyone without a valid vaccination certificate wouldn’t be allowed into populated areas. They didn’t trust the government to produce a proper vaccine.
“I think we have to face up to the truth,” Nicolas admitted. Wildfire had been created to deal with such contingencies, but he had never imagined that he would be the one on the spot. “The cities have become unmanageable.”
“I know,” the President said. The reports were grim. Between Henderson’s Disease, the rioting and plain old human fear, most of the people who made cities work were not reporting for duty. The results had not been pleasant. “How do you suggest we deal with it?”
Nicolas opened his briefcase and drew out a contingency plan, one no one had ever expected to actually put into operation. It had taken several days to update it, because even Wildfire’s most paranoid researchers hadn’t wanted to think about the plan.
“This is Operation Exodus,” he said. “We complete mass vaccination outside the cities; we’re already working on that, so we should be able to get most of the population vaccinated before too long. Once we complete that operation, we start moving people out of the cities and into refugee camps nearby, where they can be isolated and quarantined – and vaccinated. We keep them for five days, to make sure that they’re not infected, and then we start moving them further away. Once we have evacuated the cities, we can begin clearing them over the coming years. The remaining terrorists will have the choice between surrendering or dying when they finally catch the disease.”
“You’re talking about permanently reshaping America,” the President said. “Is this really necessary?”
“We’ve lost control over most of the inner cities,” Nicolas said, grimly. “I fear that most of the people living within the cities will die, unless we get them out of that environment and vaccinated – and we can’t do that in the cities, not with the chaos and anarchy on the streets.”
He hesitated. “Madam President, America is already being reshaped,” he said. “Whatever happens, nothing is ever going to be the same again. We can only try to make the change as…less painful as possible. Whatever we do, people are going to die.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Everyone hates to be told that ‘Momma Knows Best.’ But then, there are times when Momma does know best. How many times have I been challenged by someone who thinks that reading a medical textbook – and perhaps skipping directly to the sections on sexual parts – makes them a medical expert? I have twenty years of experience working in Public Heath and half my patients treat me as a leper.
-Doctor Gillian Brownian
Near Mannington VA, USA
Day 34
“There’s a van coming up the drive,” Janet shouted. The oldest daughter of Jim’s younger brother, she was not only easy on the eye, but a great shot. She regularly took home trophies for shooting, even though some of the older members of the family muttered that it was not exactly a lady-like sport. “I think it’s the nurse.”
Jim scowled. The family had debated for hours over registering to be vaccinated, even though most of the parents had insisted that their children should be vaccinated, even if it meant revealing their existence to the local government. Jim had wondered if they would ever be considered for vaccination, but two days later an email had arrived informing them that a representative from Country Health would pay them a visit, with the vaccination kit. The family had spent hours hiding everything they didn’t want the government to see – Jim couldn’t see the government worrying over illegal weapons at a time like this, but others were more paranoid – before finally responding and inviting the nurse to come visit.
He watched as the three vehicles advanced up the driveway. One was clearly an older ambulance, pressed into service for the emergency; the other two were military jeeps, each one carrying three armed soldiers. They were clearly on alert, swinging their weapons from side to side, although Jim had no idea what threat they expected to face. Who in their right mind would shoot up a vehicle carrying vaccinations?
The vehicles stopped outside the gate and a short woman stepped out of the ambulance. Jim felt his heart sink, for she reminded him of a social worker one of his friends had been involved with, long ago. The bitch had thought that she ruled the world, just because she could decide who received government aid and who didn’t, and exploited her advantage mercilessly. She had taken delight in her position and how it allowed her to reward those who grovelled to her…and punish those who wanted to maintain some semblance of independence. The nurse – or perhaps she was a doctor – had a characterless face, with her hair pulled back into a tight bun and a no-nonsense attitude. He hoped she was competent, at least.
“Mr Revells,” she called. Her voice was prissy, but there was no undertone of malicious delight in her voice. “I am Doctor Gillian Brownian.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Jim said, untruthfully. “Do you wish to come in?”
Gillian gave him a sharp look. “If you wish to be vaccinated, yes,” she said, dryly. Jim unhooked the gate and beckoned her inside, closing it before any of the soldiers could follow her. He half-expected them to force the issue, but they seemed content to wait with the vehicles. Gillian set off towards the farmhouse and he found himself following her. She moved remarkably fast for such a short woman.
“I understand that you supplied us with a precise list of people,” she said, passing him a paper copy of his email. “I need to know if that list is accurate. I cannot vaccinate you unless I vaccinate all of you at once.”
“The list is accurate,” Jim said, pushing a slightly-injured tone into his voice. Gillian wouldn’t know it, but they had considered concealing the presence of some of the adults. “Is the vaccine dangerous in any way?”
“Vaccines can be dangerous, but not being vaccinated can be far more dangerous,” Gillian said, briskly. “I assume you read the declaration of martial law. You can be shot for not having a vaccination in some places. If you wish to refuse to be vaccinate
d, now is the time to say so.”
They reached the farmhouse and Gillian marched right in. “We do want to be vaccinated,” Jim assured her. “Where do you want to start?”
Gillian placed her bag down on the table and produced a small array of hypodermic shots. Jim hadn’t seen them outside television before, for they were only usable once and the user was intended to dispose of them once they were used. They were tiny button-shaped devices; one press against the skin and whatever they contained would be injected into the body.
“We have to worry about infection,” Gillian explained, seeing his questioning look. Once these have been used, they’ll be melted down and recycled. We have to avoid using anything that can be used twice; we don’t want to spread the disease further.”
She placed two seats together and looked up at him. “Who wants to be injected first?”
Jim frowned. “I will,” he said, taking the other seat and rolling up his sleeve. He flinched as he felt a cold object being pressed against his arm and braced himself, expecting a stabbing pain, but there was nothing. Gillian removed the injector from his arm and dropped it back in her bag. “You didn’t do anything.”
Gillian chuckled. Oddly, her smile transformed her entire face. “Oh yes I did,” she said. Jim looked at his arm and blinked in surprise, seeing the red mark fading away into nothingness. “That gets people every time. Don’t worry; you were injected with vaccine…if you’ll look this way, please.”
Jim looked and she waved a wand-like device in front of his eyes. “I just took your picture,” she explained. “My associate in my vehicle will start producing your vaccination certificate now. I must warn you that losing the certificate will mean a hefty fine and attempting to sell it will be punished by execution. We have had people try to do just that, despite the warnings, and they risk spreading Henderson’s Disease into safe communities.”
She scowled as she helped Jim to his feet. “Sit down for a few minutes and relax,” she ordered. “I suggest that you have no direct contact with anyone outside the farm for at least a week. If you do not develop any worrying symptoms, it should be safe for you to have contact with anyone else, infected or uninfected. If you do develop symptoms, please contact us at once.”
Jim frowned. “And what sort of symptoms should we expect?”
“Hopefully, nothing,” Gillian explained. She looked down at the second injector in her hand. “If you will call in the next person…”
Jim watched as she injected everyone in the farm, one by one. The injectors still surprised him, even though he saw how they worked. No one felt anything, apart from coolness and a tiny flicker of pressure. Once the injections were complete, Gillian packed up her bag and stood up.
“That went well,” she said, brightly. Jim scowled inwardly. Some of the other family members had bombarded her with questions about the vaccine, including the claim floating around on the internet that it was made from pork fat. She’d dismissed that one, noting that it was being spread by people with a vested interest in causing trouble. “There are places where it’s gone a lot worse.”
Jim looked up, interested. “How much worse can it be?”
“Well, there’s a family of survivalists over on the other side of Mannington who didn’t want the vaccine at all, yet insisted on trying to visit the town and barter for food and stuff,” Gillian said. “Eventually, they were given a choice between being vaccinated or being permanently barred from the town. And then there were the Amish down south, who refused to be vaccinated in a body. And then there was the family who refused to allow the authorities to take the bodies of the dead and incinerate them…and don’t even get me started on the tofu-eaters who refused to allow their children to be vaccinated because vaccination is evil…”
She shook her head. “There are a lot of fools out there,” she added. “We’re just trying to ensure that the disease doesn’t spread any further. We’ve got around seventy percent of the local population vaccinated now, so hopefully Henderson’s Disease will die out around these parts, once the refugees die out. There are a lot of them lurking around hoping that they can beg or steal enough to live on.”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “How dangerous are they?”
“Don’t open your gate at night,” Gillian advised, as they walked out of the farmhouse. “There have been some nasty incidents. God alone knows if we will catch the guilty parties, but for the moment, if you think someone is hostile, open fire. They won’t show you any mercy.”
The soldiers looked up impatiently as they walked down to the gate. One of them passed Gillian a bag, which she opened to reveal a number of identity cards. Jim shivered as he looked down at his card, knowing that it proved that he had been vaccinated, but that it also served as a way of tracking his movements. The survivalists had watched the federal government intrude more and more into the private lives of its citizens and - whatever the motives - the vaccination certificates would put an awesome amount of potential power into the hands of the government.
“Don’t lose them or try to sell them,” Gillian repeated. “Once the schools start up again, the children will need to keep them with them at all times, at least until we manage to terminate the threat once and for all.”
Jim nodded as she looked up at him. “Remember, don’t go outside the farm for five or so days, and then you should be safe going everywhere,” she added. “The local authorities are looking for people to help out, so if you want to volunteer, please do.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Jim said. “We’ll see what we can do.”
He waved goodbye as the small convoy turned around and headed back down to the road. The soldiers waved back, although some of them were clearly nervous, looking around for potential threats. The meaning wasn't lost on Jim; the countryside was more dangerous than Gillian, or anyone else, had admitted. Shaking his head, he turned and went back into the farmhouse, making a mental note to double the guards around the farm.
There was always something to do on the farm and he found himself helping to muck out the horses, a task that would normally have fallen on the boys. They’d managed to forget to tend to their animals in the excitement of being vaccinated, even though they had been warned time and time again of the consequences for such carelessness. Jim had been at pains to remind them, back when they’d come to the farm for holidays, that animals were always for life, never just for Christmas. The small puppy they’d kept for two years until it had been run down by a careless motorist should have been a reminder of that. Jim grunted and tried not to breath too deeply as he transferred the horse’s wastes to the compost and then headed back into the house. He had a pair of young sons to discipline.
”Jim, come and look at this,” Linda called, from the living room. Jim blinked in surprise, but followed her voice, shouting for the boys to present themselves in the living room afterwards. “They found out who did it.”
Jim stared at the television as the talking head prattled on. “…Reports that the United States issued an ultimatum to the Saudi Government demanding that the Saudis turn over the people responsible for the biological warfare attack on America or face war,” the man said. His voice sounded shaken, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. “Our correspondent in Kuwait reports that massive reinforcements have been flown into the country and prepared for war…”
He paused suddenly. “We have a direct link to our correspondent in Riyadh, capital of Saudi Arabia,” he added. “We go now to Ben Faulkner…”
A new face appeared in front of them. Ben Faulkner was an older man, wearing an Arab outfit that made Jim’s heart churn with outrage. “The streets of Saudi Arabia have been packed with young men cheering the devastation wrecked upon the Great Satan,” he reported, his voice cold and a little nervous. “Today saw massive demonstrations against the United States and Israel” – the screen switched to recordings taken from above – “and the government, so far, has done nothing to disperse them. The Islamic Committee for the Prevention of Vice
and the Promotion of Virtue issued a statement decrying the claims that Saudi Arabia was behind the attacks and stated the Israel carried out the attack to encourage the Great Satan to destroy the Islamic Faith. Furthermore…”
“Wait,” the talking head said. “Are you and your men safe there?”
“We’ve been promised protection by the Minister of the Interior, who seems to be one of the ones named in the ultimatum,” Faulkner assured him. “Many westerners within the country have been taken into protective custody to protect them after a howling mob attacked a western-owned and operated housing estate within the city. The government has promised to keep them safe, but has warned that it cannot guarantee their safety if the United States attacks.”
The Coward's Way of War Page 30
