Triple X

by Amelia June

  As they watched, Sandra took fewer and fewer breaths per minute. Abby could not believe she had held on this long. Well, she always was a fighter. Why should this fight be any different?

  Suddenly, Abby felt a rush of heat and anger run through her. "Damn it, this was a preventable thing! If the government had stockpiled more antivirals, or funded more research, or paid attention to the thousands of warnings coming in from scientists and researchers...if someone had just paused in his selfish fighting and bickering to pay some fucking attention to the world around him…" she trailed off, sobbing.

  Jordan got up and gathered her into his arms. "I know. It's not fair." He hugged her tight and ran a hand lightly over her hair, soothing her.

  She began to shake with the injustice of what was happening, right now, not just to her, but in countless hospital rooms and to countless of people across the country. Tears poured down her face for the hundredth or thousandth time in the last month, and she forced them back. Sniffing, she looked up at Jordan.

  "Ugh. I'm not going to do this right now. I have to be here for her when she goes." Taking the tissue he offered, she blew her nose.

  Jordan wiped her tears away, and then went to check on Sandra's vitals. That done, he wrapped his arms around Abby's waist and whispered softly in her ear,

  "Abby, she's only breathing about four times a minute. It's time to say goodbye." Abby nodded assent, and smiled gratefully at Jordan. He stepped back again to give her space.

  "Mama, it's time for me to say goodbye to you now. You've fought very hard and I know you were not quite ready to leave the earth yet. But Mama, it's okay for you to go. The world will get on without you, even if it will be a colder place without your light. I don't know that anything is waiting for you after death, but if there is, I'm positive that there are people there for you to teach. Go now, Mama, find peace." Abby sat up, squared her shoulders, and watched as her mother, Sandra took her final breaths.

  Chapter 2

  July 30th, 2006

  Jordan rushed along the hallway and burst into the lab.

  "Abby, have you seen the news? You are not going to believe what happened."

  Abby looked up from her work and blinked blearily. "Jordan, I haven't opened a newspaper or turned on a television for a month. What on earth has got you so hyped up?"

  Jordan switched on the little radio they kept in their shared lab space. A National Public Radio announcer was talking fast and loud, not the usual intelligent discourse.

  "This is Carla Morales in Washington DC. We're not entirely sure what has happened here at the Capitol, but it appears that someone carrying a vial of H-Five-N-One spread contaminated material throughout the White House and Capitol Building.

  "At this point, our unnamed source is claiming that some members of Congress, including the Vice President, have contracted The Reaper. We have not confirmed the information at this time, but what we know for sure is that both the Capitol Building and the White House have been evacuated. The President has been air-lifted to an undisclosed medical facility, but no official report has been released. One thing remains clear--our government is currently closed for business."

  Abby sat in silence for a moment, then burst out laughing--a bitter sound. "The bastards are finally getting what's coming to them. If anyone deserves to die, it's the assholes who kept the resources diverted to the defense industry and padding their oil buddies' pockets. I still believe they could have prevented the scope of the outbreak if they'd been willing to spend a few dollars rather than use those dollars to fund their own agendas."

  "I wonder how many politicians got The Reaper," mused Jordan. "I mean, what happens if the President and the Vice President die? Who becomes President?"

  "There's a hierarchy set up," said Abby, "I think the Speaker of the House is next, then I don't know who. Besides, I have no doubt the President and Vice President were vaccinated and got antivirals. I mean, the richer you are, the more likely you are to be alive these days."

  "Let's look it up." Jordan moved over to the computer. Among other things, Jordan was quite the computer geek. He spent much of his work energy on finding better ways to automate the in vitro fertilization process. 'The less human error involved, the better,' he always said.

  Abby looked around the lab, her second home. Jordan was bent over his computer, set up on one end of the work space. The place was as sterile as the hospital, and smelled much the same. The countertops were green Formica and the floor was white Formica, lending themselves to easy cleaning. Glass and metal gleamed everywhere, and the only spot that looked messy was the desk Abby and Jordan shared. That was cluttered with papers and riff raff. I love this place, Abby thought.

  Scanning the internet for a few moments brought up the list Jordan was looking for.

  "Look, Abby, the presidential line of succession, courtesy of Wikipedia. You want to hear something kind of scary? After the Speaker of the House and President pro tempore of the senate, the next thirteen people in line for the presidency are not elected officials."

  "Who are they?"

  "The President's cabinet--so the Secretary of State, Treasury, Defense--even the Secretary of Transportation is on the list."

  "Wow. And I thought I got to vote for who led my country. How bizarre. Shows how much I remember from my high school Government class."

  "Well, I guess in a time of crisis you want someone quickly." Jordan punched up a few more websites and disappeared into the computer. He did that so frequently that Abby was used to it. He surfed around for a while, muttering to himself about politics.

  "Hey, with Congress out of session, I wonder what will happen to our funding."

  Abby shrugged. "Good point."

  Congress had issued an emergency order that funded several research labs in the DC area, Reprotech included. Reprotech was charged with the task of finding a way to rapidly produce the vaccine the Centers for Disease Control finally released for H5N1. While the vaccine would not totally eradicate The Reaper, it would prevent new cases from developing and spreading further into the population. Both Abby and Jordan had been pulled off of their in vitro work to research the new problem. But the funding was only temporary, and Congress was supposed to be voting on more long term monies this week.

  "Who knows?" Abby was beyond caring about the safety of her job, the safety of Congress. She was deep in grieving for her mother, and only came to work because she wanted to do what she could to prevent the flu from spreading as much as she could. She knew she was lucky to be able to work to help others. Besides that, Mom would never have forgiven me if I had an opportunity to help people and didn't take it.

  Jordan crossed the room and sat beside her. "Are you okay?"

  "No," she said, "but I will be. I'm so lucky to have you here right now. I'd be a basketcase if I had taken care of all the burial crap myself."

  After Sandra died, Abby discovered that burying her mother was not as easy as she expected. Jordan had gotten on the phone and eventually found a crematorium that was operating twenty-four hours a day. Sandra left no specific instructions for her remains, saying simply, 'My body is only a shell, do whatever you like with it.'

  After cremation, Abby and Jordan hiked Sabino Canyon and buried her ashes under a cottonwood tree. Abby figured her mom would approve of recycling herself back to nature. No waste, no muss, no fuss.

  They packed up her townhome in record time. Sandra had lived simply, with only a few decorations throughout the house. Jordan found an agency willing to take all Sandra's belongings as a donation for battered women and children. Abby got a giggle out of imagining what the agency would make of Sandra's twenty pairs of three inch heels. Jordan booked them return flights to DC while Abby cleaned out the fridge and prepared the townhome for sale. She contacted a real estate agent and explained the situation. Apparently the agent had heard Abby's story several times, and told her that she may not be able to sell for a while. Regardless, she agreed to handle things so Abby could return home.<
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  Jordan hugged her shoulders, pulling her out of her memory. "Let's go to the movies tonight. No reason to hang around here all the time. We can't do much good if we're exhausted and not taking care of ourselves."

  "Jordan," said Abby. "What happened to all your dates? I haven't seen you with anyone since we've been back, and I didn't notice any phone calls from Tucson to your ladies and gentlemen either. What's going on with you?"

  "Well, I wasn't seeing anyone seriously, and most have gone off to be with their families now. I'm currently unattached." Jordan punctuated the last with a little flip of his hair. Goof-ball.

  Abby considered this. She had never known Jordan not to have a date if he wanted one. But she wondered now if he had pulled back from his circle of amours to be with her in her time of need. She had considered him her best friend and loved him dearly. There was a time she had fantasized about more, and he was constantly asking her to dinner or dancing before The Reaper. But she knew him well enough to know that one person could never be enough for him, so she had put her feelings for him aside and concentrated on her work and their friendship. I just don't understand why he can't commit to one person.

  "Jordan, I've never really asked you about polyamory, have I?"

  "Not exactly. Every time I bring it up you tell me you're the 'marrying kind' and drop the subject."

  "I'm asking now. I don't understand what you mean when you say you're polyamorous. Watching you, I've kind of assumed being 'poly' means being, well, a slut." Abby flushed; worried she might have hurt his feelings. She should have known better. Jordan burst out laughing, and soon she was laughing with him.

  "Okay, okay, I'm a bit of a slut, but that has nothing to do with being a polyamorist. I just haven't found the right people to settle down with yet. I'm basically the same as you, Abby, I just don't limit myself to the--"

  "Antiquity of monogamy," Abby picked up where he left off. "I've heard you say that many times before, but it doesn't answer my question. If you aren't into monogamy, what are you looking for?"

  "Love," said Jordan. "I am looking for the right woman, man, or combination thereof to spend my life with. I've been in polyfidelitous relationships, I've been in open relationships, and yes, I've even been in one monogamous relationship. Isn't that what you're always going on about, finding the person you were meant to be with?"

  "Well, yes. But why do you need to be with more than one? I've always thought there was one person for each of us. I just don't understand the attraction to loving more than one person."

  "Let me use my last long term relationship as an example. When I was in my polyfidelitous relationship, we agreed to be with only each other and no one else. There were three of us, myself and two very loving women. In that case, we were a Vee. That is, each woman had an intimate relationship with me, and they saw themselves as loving sisters rather than lovers. We just worked out that way--I met them each at a poly event, and we all decided to give the relationship a try. I loved both of them very much. Would you have me limit my love because it's 'normal' to do so? Each woman was different in personality and spirit, and I enjoyed their company equally for different reasons."

  "Weren't they jealous of your time? I couldn't imagine sharing my husband with another woman."

  "Sometimes, as I was sometimes jealous of their sister time together. They might not have had a sexual relationship, but they were still very intimate with each other. Sometimes they shared jokes and understandings I was left out of.

  "No relationship is without jealousy. That is part of the communication and work that goes into any loving relationship. Poly people are not immune to it; we just accept it as a part of life and work through it."

  Abby was incredulous. Jordan made polyamory sound like this beautiful expression of love between people. He almost made it sound normal. She was raised in a Christian church but was never really religious herself. She followed the moral values taught to her and believed that if there was a God, he loved all people regardless of religious or sexual orientation. But she just could not get her mind around the morals of marrying more than one person. She felt guilty just thinking about it.

  "If your relationship was so great, what ended things?"

  "The same things that ended your relationships. We had some inherent incompatibilities, for one. I was very busy getting my medical degree and both of my lovers felt slighted. Ironic that they were more jealous of my ambition than each other, isn't it? Then one of the women found a man she loved outside of our Vee, and wanted to pursue a relationship with him. We discussed things and cried and argued, and in the end it was time to let go. I was devastated to lose them. I haven't really found anyone else I loved enough to risk that kind of intimacy again."

  "When you put things like that you sound like every other person looking for love."

  "Well, what's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing." Abby fell silent, lost in thought.

  * * * *

  August 15th, 2006

  President Whitaker was breathing only with the help of a machine. His wife sat beside him, gripping his hand. She looked up at the doctor, her eyes burning with tears and anger.

  "How could this happen? My husband is the President of the United States. I don't understand how he got The Reaper."

  The President's personal doctor shook his head. "We're not sure, Mrs. Whitaker. All we know for certain is that the strain of flu your husband has is slightly different in construction than The Reaper we've been treating. I believe the virus may have mutated again, only slightly, but enough to render our vaccine useless. We have already determined that the antivirals can be somewhat capricious in who they help, and it appears your husband is not in the lucky group."

  "Why am I well, then?" The First Lady's voice cracked with tension and fear. "I slept in the White House beside him every night."

  "I'm afraid I just don't know the answers to your questions. We're doing everything we can, but at this point I believe your husband will not make it. I'll inform the press, if you like."

  "Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "I'll do it. The country will want to hear from me now. After all, someone needs to show leadership in this uncertain time. We're likely to have riots in the streets if people realize that much of the presidential line of succession is lying in this hospital sick with The Reaper. Until Congress--what's left of Congress--figures out who is in charge, I can serve the people by asking them to remain calm and trust their government."

  Both the doctor and the First Lady jumped as the monitors hooked up to the President began to alarm. Neither moved for a moment, then the doctor began to switch off machines. The President was gone, and the country's leadership was decimated.

  * * * *

  Abby arrived at work in a daze. She turned on her radio and caught the tail end of another replay of the First Lady's speech. The President was gone, as was the Vice President. About a third of Congress was either sick or dying of The Reaper. However, most disturbing of all was the news that the presidential line of succession was also affected by the flu. I may be angry at the government, but having no government at all is more than a little scary. The only information that the White House was willing to release was that somehow, someone had gotten a strain of The Reaper and altered it just enough to render vaccination ineffective.

  Soon after, sketchy reports seemed to indicate that an individual somehow transmitted the virus to the President, Vice President, most of Congress and everyone in line for the presidency. Each news story contained another report of a cabinet member who was affected by The Reaper. Not all of them had died; in fact, most hadn't thanks to available Antiflu.

  However, most of them were very sick and incapable of taking charge of the country. How ironic, that the very people who are responsible for the Reaper's devastation have now contracted the flu themselves. She wondered who would wind up in power. Probably some poor low level official who never expected to be taking over control of the entire country. What a nightmare.


  * * * *

  Michael Jones turned off the radio and sat back in his desk chair. The First Lady's speech was being replayed on the hour, and the commentators were picking apart each word she said. Information was flying, rumors of conspiracy and murder were rolling off the pundits' forked tongues, and life was very good. Michael smiled to himself. At last my many years of work are coming to fruition. Soon I will be in position to bring the word of God to the entire country.

  Settling into his office on Independence Avenue, he looked out at the Capitol Building. His mind was peaceful, and the strength of God's love flowed through him. Soon, he knew, he would be receiving a call from the White House to confirm his ascension to the Presidency. Only God could have predicted that his rise to power within the department of Health and Human Services would lead to this. Michael chortled as he thought of the amazing set of circumstances that brought him to this position. As he gazed out over the National Mall, a knock sounded at the door.

  "Yes, Virginia?"

  His pretty young secretary poked her head in the door at his word. "Mr. Jones, the television crew is here. They are ready to set up for the interview."

  "Excellent. Send them in." Virginia nodded then removed her head, the heavy door slamming behind her.

  An hour later, his office had been transformed into a makeshift TV studio. Lights and cameras stood in the far corner, and two chairs sat in front of his large maple desk. Jones made sure that the large crucifix on his wall would show throughout the interview.

  The interviewer, a beautiful woman named Leah from the Christian Broadcasting Network, sat down and smiled at him. "Don't be nervous, Mr. Jones, we'll take good care of you."

  "Yes, I know." He placed the tips of his fingers together and smiled. Jones had allowed only one interview, despite hundreds of requests. He wanted to be sure his words were uncensored, and the correct questions were asked. He trusted the people at CBN to do him justice.