“In what way Mr Kellerman?”
“We have attached a barbed-taper to each spore, so that it locates, mutates and finally layers its presence in the air just above ground level. In short, even walking into these spores will contaminate a person. These spores will be able to hover in an air-based status for decades, unless they are radically dissolved.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
This question remained unanswered initially because Michael Kyra the Head of Security entered The Oval Office. He acknowledged the President and nodded to Kellerman but their greetings were mutually rather cold. Kellerman continued addressing the President's question.
“Well Mr President, in this context spore based alterations would involve creating mutant masking ingredients. These are extremely powerful spores and to alter their DNA structure a full modification of their stem-cell compositions would need to take place. Unfortunately we do not have time on our side. Your solution here may rest with Mr Kyra and ultimately Commander Scope because a military antidote may be needed. If this sounds too radical, we have got to remember that the Salt Lake City smallpox epidemic is increasing not decreasing!”
Hudson would have come in with another question, but Kyra interrupted his President for a second time. Hudson had a look of resignation come over him as Kyra addressed Kellerman.
“So you say that the smallpox epidemic is now unchecked do you Mr Kellerman?”
“I am afraid so Sir. We do not know how to put a block on the spore based degeneration. In short, the outbreak has become uncontrollable and out of control in Salt Lake City.”
Hudson interjected with a key question to Kellerman.
“About 190,000 citizens currently reside in Salt Lake City. What is the likely level of contamination Mr Kellerman?”
“Current estimates envisage 46%, but that figure is rising all the time Mr President.”
In a pleading shout Hudson cried “Why is it unchecked?”
The proverbial pin dropped as Kyra, Hudson and Kellerman observed each other.
Kyra broke the uneasy tension.
“I have not played my cards yet Mr President I await your decision with respect, but it seems as though science is not working in this instance. I mean biological tampering got us into this mess in the first place.”
“You are being rather obtuse William Kyra. What exactly did you have in mind?”
“Well Mr President this is germ-warfare out of control really isn't it? I would not recommend throwing more germs into the equation and chemical eradication has proved rather messy in the past. I say that it is time to use history Mr President. Let's Nuke 'em.”
Kellerman hated Kyra's uncaring words and he reacted accordingly.
“We are all Americans Mr Kyra. Epidemics are hardly joking matters - are they?”
“I wasn't fucking joking Mr Kellerman. You yourself said that the Salt Lake situation was deteriorating. Well as a nation we are not going to queue to be infected are we? Smart nations arrest epidemics by stopping the contagion. A Nuke may seem extreme to you, but one missile could effectively decontaminate us.”
The President re-entered the discussion.
“Gentlemen, a home-Nuke does seem extreme, but let us examine today's Salt Lake footage on the video wall behind you.”
The screen showed bodies piled three-deep in advanced stages of decay. Boils, welts and lesions ripped into the dead flesh and black rats gorged themselves on the more delicate body parts. Attempts to remedy the situation seemed to have been abandoned as a field hospital in one section of the city was looted and abandoned. All the medical staff in that hospital were dead and no hope for the future seemed to exist at all. This city had become a landscape of Armageddon with hell as the next stop.
As the images cross-cut to other parts of the city, some small groups in white decontamination overalls appeared to be trying to restore some form of order to the chaos.
They loaded bodies on to disposal trucks, but their work seemed laboured, as many of them showed signs of fatigue and damage to themselves. On occasions security personnel appeared to try and maintain a form of order, but their collective number was low and the gaps in their ranks invited street gangs to do as they pleased. In effect anarchy had taken hold in Salt Lake City and as the smallpox spores increased, the street cameras illuminated a decaying city for the dying and dead.
At that point the wind started to howl quite eerily and strong rain started to batter the Oval Office windows. The screened visuals had temporarily silenced the three office occupants and the seconds of silence held a pregnancy that was significant. Kyra took the verbal lead again.
“Mr President, Mr Kellerman, Salt Lake City has gone over the edge. The situation is irretrievable and the respective population are all doomed to die. We designed this germ warfare baby with others in mind but now we are gonna receive the full payload. A nuclear strike merely becomes a tactical cremation. An effective warhead will kill those spores through radiation poisoning and in that context the people are indeed expendable.”
Hudson then added a verbal caveat to Kyra's words.
“This would be the end of Salt Lake City wouldn't it?”
“Yes, but it will eradicate a more widespread contamination.” Retorted Kyra.
“No sponsor is going to put their brand name on America blowing up America! You forget Mr Kyra that all our missiles have brand tags that endorse their usage and appear on the missile itself. We have come a long way since Nagasaki’s Fat Man and now corporate liveries are part of the nuclear missile design package. No advertiser wants to leave a legacy that is associated with blowing up part of our beloved country do they?”
The question was rhetorical, but Kyra answered it anyway.
“Four do.”
Hudson looked alarmed and sought clarification.
“What do you mean?”
“Mr President, not all the unbranded missiles have been destroyed. We have kept four in workable states without corporate branding, should such a situation arise like the one that we have in Salt Lake City. You did not know this, as we chose to select the override option sir. I am sorry, but this is how things are now.”
There was a finality in Kyra's voice and the matter was not contested by the others. After a brief pause, Hudson moved the conversation along.
“You obviously believe in the Nuke option Mr Kyra. Would you follow a nuclear pathway in this instance Mr Kellerman?”
“No I would not. There is no guarantee that a nuclear missile would eradicate the smallpox spores - it may spread them further with a cloak of radiation adding to the contamination.”
Kyra started to get impatient with Kellerman's position.
“Do you remember the Ebola outbreak in 2028 Mr Kellerman? America did nothing to arrest the contagion or at least nothing radical and 18,000 Americans died as a result. In our current crisis, a nuclear blast could well purify Salt Lake City.”
Kellerman spat back a reply.
“If purification is 200,000 murders, give me a fucking gun Mr Kyra! I do not want a part of this madness! Where is your logic here? You castigate the 18,000 Ebola deaths and yet you recommend an A-bomb mortality figure that may be ten times that amount! Were is your consistency Mr Kyra.?”
As the two men's tirade became more hostile by the minute, Hudson chose to administer his token casting verdict.
“Gentlemen, I beg you to calm down a bit. Either conclusion will be tragic as thousands of our fellow Americans will be dead or dying. The visual footage that we witnessed did indeed highlight a nihilistic world without any hope. The people appear almost beyond any help and so I return my attention to the location itself - the real cradle of the contamination. With this in mind, it is my conviction that this location must be dealt with to a degree of primary importance. All the buildings of Salt Lake City must be obliterated and yes Mr Kyra a massive nuclear strike could be our best hope in that context.”
Hudson paused as the gale outside subsided slightly
. This created a bizarre form of synchronicity and as the president waited to compose an end-line, Kellerman beat him to the draw.
“What about the survivors of the epidemic Mr President? They survive pestilence and then we Nuke them. This is hardly part of the American way of doing things is it?”
“No Kellerman, but I do now veer towards Mr Kyra's point of view. Nuking the city will be the lesser of two evils. We have days now not months gentlemen. I will give the order to make a missile ready. May God forgive me for this decision, but we have no other choice in this instance. It must be nuclear cleansing this time. We built the germ spores too well for any other form of decontamination to be viable. Mr Scope's reactionary force will be informed accordingly.”
Kyra claimed the last words as dawn approached.
“You have seen the light Mr President. Nuclear cleansing is the only way. God Bless you Mr President. God Bless you America.”
THREE
Five days after the Oval Office meeting, Kellerman was still rather disillusioned. He felt that his expertise pertaining to the Salt Lake City crisis had been disregarded. In his eyes, he felt that Michael Kyra had bullied the President into a Nuclear Submission and to say that he was fucked off about the situation, would be one great understatement. He had woken early that morning and had decided to walk around the scenic boating lake that was close to his house. This place inspired him and the peaceful solitude of the location was cathartic in reducing his pessimism. He skimmed a small stone across the lake, imagining the ripples on the water to be the indents that he would like to put on Michael Kyra's face. He could at least dream equalisation and alter reality from his envisaged fictional netherworld. As the pebble sank to the bottom of the lake, he scowled at reality.
He continued walking around the parameters of the lake, with his hardened outlook being softened slightly by the aesthetic surroundings. Kellerman thought about his 15:00 meeting later that day with The Memory Camera Project. He enjoyed working with this organisation, performing an advisory role with regard to causes of death factors and decomposition rates. Whilst Kyra and his security cohort always seemed to undervalue Kellerman, (as the Oval Office meeting reiterated), The MC-Project conversely welcomed him with open arms. This American organisation was initially owned by the UK and it had a rather chequered history, mixing great pioneering neurological work with more questionable cortex claims that were open to dispute. When the UK was wiped out after the mass contamination of Europe, America ran the MC-Project on its own.
An expert 6-person team ran the project. Sharmilla Hendricks and Thane Costa-Mendez were the joint leaders of the project. Vincent Perry and Jasmine Silver were experts in neurology. Paul Santorini was a laser extraction genius and John Galten an expert in digital conversion, completed the team. These six scientists were assisted by other researchers on occasions and Martin Kellerman had one such supporting role.
Kellerman was picked up at 14:30 and driven the short journey to the MC-Project headquarters. He received a very warm welcome from the beautiful joint-head of the project. Sharmilla was half Indian-half American and the appearance of this twenty-eight year old was more catwalk than science lab. Her beauty was beguiling though and as soon as she spoke an intellectual confidence exuded from her. Sharmilla had a very choice linguistic repertoire and her welcome to Kellerman was as succinct as ever.
“A pleasure to see you as usual Martin. Our project always seems to benefit from the forensic underpinning that you bring with you. We are most grateful my friend. Can I bring you any refreshments?”
Kellerman smiled, but declined. He was keen to ascertain whether there was any pressing business that he could help the project with.
Sharmilla then told him that a current lull had happened as far as direct physical brain explorations were concerned. She then softened this blow by stating that his forensic expertise would be needed again very soon.
The two of them conversed for a bit longer and Thane Costa-Mendez joined them for a short time. All three of them remembered when the MC-Project had been celebrated as the biggest ever neurological discovery. Suspicion had then clouded that status somewhat and more lean pickings had been the result. Whilst America still viewed the MC-Project as important, it did not elevate the organisation as pivotal anymore. The black clouds of a dead Europe had seen to that. After a final exchange of pleasantries, Kellerman decided to forgo the offer of a lift home and chose instead to walk the short distance to his locale. It was now 19:07 and twilight had started to claim the sky.
When Kellerman reached the crossroads - the halfway point of his journey, he opted to take the pastoral route that was more scenic than the other options. They knew he would.
He reached a fern-fringed glade and Kyra's men closed in. To Kellerman's left six uniformed security staff barred him access and behind him a further six tracked his every step. Dense thorn trees flanked the group of people on both the left and right sides. Kellerman was trapped. Silence sucked in the occasion - an evil portent if ever there was one. Everyone stood transfixed for about fifty seconds Fear then started to ebb into the psyche of Martin Kellerman and he spoke first.
“Oh come on William. It was just a disagreement man!' Just different opinions you know.”
Kyra centred his position with a face as unyielding as any cold eyed killer. As steel coursed through his veins, he spoke.
“Yes Martin a disagreement, in front of our fucking president!”
“Oh come on man, he's just a fucking puppet - you know that!”
“You told him that - did you?”
“Nobody does. You know that. Why the heavy security presence.?”
“They all want to see the demonstration. Twelve private invites and all that fucking jazz. You know how it is.”
“What demonstration?”
“You'll find out Mr Kellerman. After all, you are our star, our first trialist so to speak. Now it's time to wear this.”
Kyra's men pinned Kellerman to an large tree and the security chief then placed a black fencing - mask over Kellerman's head. After Kellerman was fastened in the required bound position, Kyra retrieved a fist-sized black metal object from his security coat. The object had grooves cut into the sides and it had a lustre that gave it a rather curious glow. At this stage the object seemed relatively harmless and it was tied to Kellerman's left flank. Kyra quietly approached Martin Kellerman. His words were typical Kyra and not a trace of sentiment existed in his heart.
“Time to turn you inside-out Martin! Meet the Excoriator my friend. This will be a visual that we won't be sending home to mother!”
With that line, Kyra smiled at Martin Kellerman and after checking the tightness of the black fencing mask, he turned to his favourite cohort member and yelled ACTIVATE.
Nothing happened initially…
The security cohort held their breath in unison and Kellerman twisted uneasily- still bound to the tree. He quickly realised his brief advantage and delivered a memorable riposte line, dulled slightly from being within the mask.
“Hollow fucking party Kyra!”
With that line, Kyra kicked him in the testicles and the Excoriator was set in motion.
Slowly the Excoriator started to tunnel into the skin of Martin Kellerman and the machine started to spit strands of flesh onto the undergrowth carpet beneath them. The dried dead leaves became red in an instant. Kellerman started to scream in terror and the said screams reached a new amplified pitch as the machine ploughed through his body. Occasionally the Excoriator jarred as bone obstructed its progress, but then lumps of bone started to be spat out too as the machine gathered pace. At this point Kellerman lost bowel control and temporarily lost consciousness as some of his internal organs were spewed across the glade floor. The Excoriator then started to zig-zag through the torso and the brave man breathed his last whilst still pinned to the tree. When the noise of the machine abated, it was replaced with the sound of manic laughter from the security cohort. They were placing bets on which part of Ke
llerman would fall off first. Nobody won this bet though as the Excoriator came to an abrupt halt when it got wedged inside Martin's rib-cage. Efforts were made to restart the machine on other parts of the victim's body, but the prototype needed to go back to the drawing board - for a while at least.
Kyra wiped the blood from his combat boots. He was living the dream of being the head of security. As Kellerman's body was thrown into the bushes, Kyra led his men away from the clearing. It had been a great sport and he could now concentrate fully on nuking Salt Lake City.
FOUR
Sharmilla had slept uneasily. The Autumnal sunshine was a weak insipid yellow. The woman started to gather her thoughts, although not yet her clothing. As she walked naked to her rooftop window as her partner's laboured breathing provided a rather bizarre dawn soundtrack. He slept on as she wrestled awkwardly with her silken dressing gown. She scanned her mobile and saw that she had several videograms, perception-tunnels and emails. As she surveyed the list of contacts, one message stood out.
It was a laser-tracker gram from a Head Doctor that she had never met. She was curious and activated consumption mode to review this visual message.
The images had a scratchy, monochrome finish and the frail old man who was the sender, had an appearance that seemed to echo this poor production.
Staring straight at the viewer he began his message:
“When you receive this, I will be dead. You see, my cancer is an impatient-guest and waits for no man. Thirty years ago, I was the Chief Doctor at a birth, as I was for hundreds of births during my career. This was no ordinary pregnancy and the birth itself continued this rather darkened conception. The Mother's name was Marcia Levene and the Father's name was never stated as far as I know. Triplets were delivered in this instance, but I repeat that this was no ordinary birth. My Memory-Camera and Mindsight will both have captured the evidence. It is unprofessional for me to cast a verdict about what took place on that night thirty years ago, but nothing in my entire medical career has come close in matching the unusual events surrounding this triplet-delivery. I have made specific instructions that I will not be cremated after my death. Just make sure that you Memory-Camera scientists do the honourable thing here. God may help science on this occasion, but I fear that he might be rather outnumbered. Do your work.”
Coils Of The Overkill Page 2
