Independence Day Plague

by Carla Lee Suson

  “What the hell!” Stegan stepped to the gate, scanning the horizon. The next bullet caught him in the chest, spinning him around as the second one exploded out his right side.

  Screams filled the air as people ran for cover. More bullets silently peppered the street area, chipping up bits of concrete. Two more people dropped, chunks of tissue and blood splattering from their backs.

  Mitchell ran for cover around the edge of the security building. When the silence reigned again, after a few moments, he risked peering around the corner. Five people littered the ground, while others behind cars or running in panic down the side streets. Moments passed after the initial barrage stopped. He listened intently but nothing moved beyond the gates. After what felt like an eternity, he stood up with hands raised, palms forward. He tensed, waiting for the bullet but heard only silence. He slowly walked back to the people on the ground, hands still in the air. He heard frightened footsteps behind him as others ran from their sanctuaries to the buildings beyond.

  Mitchell stayed on the side of the bodies farthest from the gates. He crouched down, checking each person one handed. Neat little holes in the front belied the vast amount of blood flowing out of the back. When Mitchell checked Stegan, he then understood why they were all dead. The wound from an abdominal shot had blown out most of his spinal cord on exit. Rising slowly again, with hands up. He walked back to the cars and the people crouched there. “It's over. Don’t go near the gate and you’ll be safe.”

  Geller rose. “That was really stupid. You could have been shot.”

  Mitchell shook his head. “We’ve been here for several minutes. They only started shooting when we tried to break through the fence.”

  Geller leaned his back against the wall, letting out a long breath. “We’re not leaving here anytime soon. We need another meeting. This time don’t use phones or the com-units, word-of-mouth only. Have them come to the auditorium by four.”

  Lacy Cole clutched her white tweed coat tightly around her dark brown neck. “What about the bodies?”

  Mitchell replied, “We’ll take care of them later. Right now, just stay away from the fence.”

  The second meeting completely filled the auditorium with grim men and women. Occasional ragged coughs echoed frequently through the hall. Mitchell sat by Sarah Mendoza. Her eyes looked puffy. Her hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail, lacked its normally elegant styling.

  “How’s John?” he asked quietly.

  She smiled weakly, new tears threatening to overflow. “He’s got a low fever now and gets dizzy every time he stands up. I’m making the kids stay away from him just… you know, just in case. What about Caroline?”

  “She has a migraine. Katie’s ill too. They both went back to bed.”

  She nodded and sniffed. “We’re in real trouble.”

  Mitchell didn’t reply.

  Geller sat on the edge of the stage, feet dangling next to Captain Marcus Phelps, an expert bacteriologist and second-in-command of the base.

  Mitchell rubbed his eyes. The Maryland house filled with deep reds and oranges brought on by the setting sun. The computer timer had just ticked past two hours on the recorder program. He hit “pause” on the screen and poured himself a new rum and Caf. The liquid sloshed shakily around the glass as he picked it up. The memories came, pouring out like anima, like blood flowing from an open wound. It left him weak and blind through the tears. He sat down and clicked the record button.

  “Geller talked for over an hour that afternoon about contingencies and medical supplies. He called for a vote on whether to move the sick into a central area like the gym but most people chose to stay in their homes. The provisions at the PX and Commissary were opened up and people took anything they needed.”

  “By the second day, we knew the military would be back. They cut the power, you see. The electronic umbilical cord should have kept us from freezing in those below thirty-degree nights. We had generator fuel for emergencies that would last at best ten days before it ran out. They cut the power on April 10th but by then many already lay dying. The cryo-units had to be picked up within two weeks of the power being cut off or the product would die.”

  “We worried about the containment chambers. Yep, we panicked about losing containment on all those vials of death. But Ray worked it out. He reasoned by the tenth day to fifteenth day, the military would come back and get the product. By then, no one could stop them.”

  Arnie knew that Johns Hopkins Medical School was always dead quiet on Sunday evenings. It was the best time to be in the lab, particularly after he discovered that his laboratory key was a master to the whole research wing. Lax security meant easy access. They handed out keys to employees for after hours research but never considered that the keys opened more than just the local laboratory or office doors.

  He placed another clear glass bottle of powder into his backpack against the bubble-wrapped glassware. His hand froze at the click of the doorknob. The door swooshed open on an air- padded hinge. Silently muttering curses, he zipped the backpack closed and stowed it next to the tall chair parked at the bio-fume hood.

  The sound of sneaker-clad feet echoed in the silent lab followed by a female voice. “Hello? Whose here?” A brunette, dressed in pullover shirt, jeans, and white lab coat, rounded the corner. She gaped at him, “Ah, jeez Arnie! You scared me half to death.”

  He turned and grinned, blocking the view of the bag, “Hiyah, Donna.”

  She frowned, crossing her arms in front of her, clasping the black and white research notebook to her chest. “It’s Sunday. Whatcha doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same.” She glared at him as he continued, “The cells don’t know it s my day off.” He shrugged. “I got off schedule harvesting them last week and had to come in today to change the media. Everyone needs fibroblasts and endothelial cells next week. What about you?”

  She waved her hand dismissively “Graduate students never get time off. I have to have results to report to Dr. Morgenstern. He’s pushing me to finish my research by summer. I thought I could work alone today.” She eyed him and the hood, frown deepening. “Are you going to use the hood? I’m going to have to kick you out because I really need it.”

  Arnie shrugged again, “Just finishing up.” Over the last few years, many young doctor-hopefuls and biology graduate students came and went through Arnie's life. All medical research labs had them. Each student thought that their worth counted higher than his and, by extension, their work far more important. Often they treated the hired technicians as common servants. Arnie occasionally wondered if the first semester of every graduate program included an introductory course in God Complex I.

  Ironically, his work as a medical technologist was indispensable to their work. Although they performed the experiments, he provided them with the raw materials of solutions, media, and human or animal cells. He was the only one in the lab who had experience harvesting the cells from bits of tissue and making them multiply and grow across the Petri dishes for the experiments. He had done the same kind of legal work at several medical schools since graduating college. He felt wasted at such menial jobs but they helped supply some of his illegal and more profitable endeavors.

  Donna pulled out a chair at the low workbench area near the water bath. She flopped down and opened her research book. “Good, because I’m really under stress here to finish this." She eyed the line of white translucent bottles that lined the countertop to her right. “What’s this? I thought you put away all the new orders on Friday.” She stood and picked one up to read the label.

  Arnie rushed forward, taking the bottle from her. He grinned again, “I wanted to make some new solutions and media for next week since I was in here anyway.” Her mouth opened in protest. He put a hand up to stop her. “But I didn’t know you were here so I’ll put them away and do it on Monday.”

  She sighed, “Thanks Arnie, I appreciate it.” He began placing the bottles into the white metal cabinets above the counter. Donna�
�s hand grabbed one medium size bottle, peering at the label. “Jeez, we just ordered this and now it’s half empty, I can’t believe how quickly we go through chemicals. It’s like we’re eating the stuff.”

  Arnie paused, keeping his back turned to her. “The powdered chemicals often come looking only half filled. They’re sold based on weight, not volume. Don’t worry, I’ll order more next week.”

  “Order more disposable Petri dishes too. The box is nearly empty. I think Jake’s lab is borrowing our stuff again. We’re short on glass flasks too."

  Arnie nodded while he put the last of the chemicals away. He noted Donna rubbing her eyes and then staring at the research book in front of her. Her shoulders slumped and she stifled a yawn.

  He moved past her to grab his backpack. “Late nights, huh?”

  She nodded, “Yeah, two years worth.”

  He stopped, “Maybe you need a little pick-me-up.”

  She yawned widely this time. “No thanks, I’ve had enough coffee to pee an ocean of java.”

  He slumped, half sitting against the cabinets next to her, hands tucked in his denim pockets. She looked up at him, attempting to stifle the look of irritation. “Maybe you need something a little more pharmaceutical.”

  She eyed him through the uncut bangs of her brown hair. “What are you offering?”

  He shrugged. “Not me personally but I know a guy that knows a guy. I can get you something that lets you stay awake longer, be more focused." He grinned again. “A lot of the pre-meds use them, particularly when it gets close to finals.”

  She didn’t answer immediately. The only sound in the room was the hum of the two large incubators by the fume hood. “I’m not sure about payment,” she finally replied.

  He considered her face for a moment. Donna looked unkempt and stressed out like many second year students. However, with a five foot seven, curvy body, Arnie had often pictured her in bed, willingly offering herself to him. He had exchanged drugs for sexual favors before with good results. Taking her down a peg or two on ego felt pretty satisfying too. Having something to blackmail her with meant a lot freer access to lab supplies as well. “I think something can be arranged.” He said softly.

  The silence between them lengthened again. Donna blinked several times and then gave herself a little shake. “No, I appreciate the offer but I don’t think so.”

  Arnie shrugged. “No harm in asking. If you change your mind, just let me know.” He walked over, picked up his backpack, and slung it across his back with exaggerated care. It chinked slightly as he shifted the weight. Inside, the glassware sat wrapped in bubble paper but the noisy Petri dishes rattled loose in sterile plastic sleeves. They made a great deal of clinking noise if he moved too fast. “Bye,” he said loudly as he walked to the door. She vaguely waved at him without looking up.

  Chapter 3

  June 1, 2026

  Dorado looked around the crowded room. Uniformed and plain clothed officers from Transit Authority, Capital, Park Police and the members of his DC squad sat intermixed with the suit types from the Secret Service, FBI, CIA and surprisingly, DEA. An enlarged three-dimensional map covered one wall as the agent droned on about the Chinese delegation’s itinerary.

  “We’ll need extra surveillance here and here. FBI and Secret Service will cover those stations during the evening hours.” Thornby pointed to the White House area of the map. Typical of many Secret Service people, he sported a military bearing and look in his gray suit and close-cropped brown hair. Although he talked like a deskman, Dorado had no doubt Thornby had muscles like coiled steel on his thin frame.

  Frank Cardell shifted forward and upright in his seat. Dorado fought hard not to grimace. The short, balding man liked the limelight too much. Dorado hadn’t invited him to this third meeting of the interagency forces so his presence as a DCPD representative was a mystery. Cardell spoke, cutting Thornby off, “So, you’re going to be shadowing the Chinese delegates everywhere, what the hell does that have to do with us?” Cardell said.

  “Local police will help with crowd control during the delegation’s entire visit. We expect large amounts of protesters. Several have already filed for permits. Demonstration hot spots include outside the hotel, the Chinese Embassy, and the White House during the entire ten-day visit.” Special Agent Thornby straightened up to his full six foot, six inch height. “Secret Service handles the White House as usual. We need FBI and DCPD visual presence on the hotel and outside the embassy.”

  “Well, why don’t—” Cardell began until Dorado cut him off.

  “As liaison, I’ll coordinate it with our department.” He gave Cardell a hard look to silence him. Starker hadn’t mentioned his assignment to the task force. Dorado planned to corner Cardell for an explanation afterwards. “That’s all before and after the big day. On the Fourth, DC, Capitol and Park Police are going to be stretched thin just on crowd control.”

  Thornby nodded, “More Secret Service agents are flying in from other state offices to help out with the delegates’ movement on the Fourth. Since our agents will be on the move or at the White House during that day, police presence won’t be needed as badly then. We feel the most volatile situation will be the protesters here,” he pointed to the map again, “at the hotel or in front of the White House. I need not remind any of you that the delegates are not popular people. They're sight-seeing quite a bit during the conference and the word from on high is to impress upon them America’s power, America’s history and its security.”

  Cardell quipped, “Hard to do that when you’re facing a people with a thousand year history.” Chuckles filled the room.

  Dorado waited until the group settled down again before speaking. “Have there been any specific threats we should be aware of?”

  Thornby looked him over, assessing before answering. “Some. We’re investigating them now and will keep you informed.”

  Dorado nodded and thought, you’re already covering your ass, you bastard. Dorado hated interagency politics. Thornby never gave up information unless he thoroughly chewed up and discarded it first. If Cardell wanted a piece of the action that much, Dorado planned to assign him as liaison with the Feds. The job was generally useless but it would keep Cardell out of the way.

  Thornby sat down and James La Croix, FBI, took his place. “Let’s move on to the Fourth. As most of you know, the estimates of visitors have increased to near three million throughout the city with at least a quarter of that being internationals. We've issued you each a guideline of the expected responsibilities assigned to each law enforcement division. Of course, all jurisdiction agreements will still be enforced.”

  “Mall police plan on the usual eight-foot high wood and wire fencing all along the perimeter of the Mall, particularly near the Smithsonian Festival. There’ll be ten entry checkpoints into these areas.” At the push of a button on La Croix’s handheld, red pinpricks glowed through the holographic map. “They'll conduct bag checks; use mobile metal detectors and a Geiger field set up, and run dogs checking the line.”

  Most people nodded. No one wanted a reenactment of New Years, 2012 in New York. A suicide-oriented terrorist spent the night littering highly radioactive dust throughout the crowds. The city’s cancer death rate skyrocketed over the next two years, starting with approximately 1,500 people diagnosed with radiation burns within the first week.

  “DC police plans on monitoring outside the Mall and the Federal Buildings. Park and Capitol Police will work the inside of the fence. Both the Capitol and OEMB will be closed and locked up tight. Performances scheduled on the Capitol steps will go on, but the performers and stagehands will be limited to checking in through security stations in the Capitol Visitor’s Center two hours before their performance time. Capitol Police will run crowd control on that end. Street traffic and subway stations will stay the domain of the different police divisions in those areas.”

  La Croix looked at Dorado, “I assume you’ll coordinate with Metro administrators on that.” The Washi
ngton subway system opened in 1976 and definitely showed its age. A bureaucracy built up around it like a little city whose sole function was to keep the trains running, a city that included a small army of maintenance men and a distributed police force.

  Dorado nodded, “We’ve already discussed it to some length. The Metro's changing train routes again to handle the crowds from eight in the morning to about one at night when it shuts down. That's standard Fourth of July procedure. Smithsonian Station locks down again on the third and reopens on the fifth. The biggest problem is crowd control afterwards. After the fireworks, if we let too many people down to the stations’ sublevels at one time and they’ll start crushing each other. Two officers per station usually control that.”

  La Croix looked at his notes. “I think that’s about all. Any questions?”

  “What about terrorist threat evaluations before the Fourth?”

  “Don’t worry; we’ve got that taken care of.” La Croix began putting his papers away.

  Dorado continued, “No, I need to worry. There are a lot of groups out there and we should coordinate information.”

  La Croix glared at him. Dorado worked with the FBI before. Feds never shared information unless forced to.

  “We’ll let you know if anything critical shows up.”

  “No.” Dorado straightened up in his seat. “That’s not good enough.”

  Cardell turned towards him and snarled low. “Christ, Dorado, they said they’ll take care of that.”

  Dorado faced Cardell, jaw tight, He spoke loud enough to fill the room. “It’s not good enough. Anyone with half a brain knows the freaks are going to come out of the woodwork this year. It happens with every major celebration and this‘ll be the biggest one in the world for the next fifty years.”