The Scourge

by R. Tilden Smith

  “Don’t tell me the asteroid was really a spaceship with little green men inside,” Jim Smith, the Director of National Intelligence, said with a distinct tone of skepticism.

  “We really don’t know what it was, as in all likelihood it completely disintegrated when it entered the earth's atmosphere and exploded, but the trajectory analysis concluded that it purposely slowed and changed course for earth.”

  Saul, sitting directly across from Harold, loudly pounded both of his forearms on the table then leaned his upper body, so that his face was as close to Harold’s as he could get it without getting out of his chair. “Doc, that's the craziest bunch of hooey I've ever heard. You squints have really gone off on the deep end this time.”

  “General Adams,” Marcia said, “You will address the members of my team with respect! They are not children!”

  Saul didn't acknowledge the President's remark, his focus remained fixed on Harold. “So, Dr. Donaldson, what you're trying to sell to this room of accomplished government officials, is that the United States of America has been invaded by aliens. Is that right?”

  “No, not exactly,” Harold said, “but we believe that the craft, disguised as an asteroid, somehow targeted earth and guided itself here. Though there haven't been any reports of any surface impacts, we have teams out scouring the probable impact zone around Galveston Bay, looking for any remnants that could give us a clue as to the purpose of the craft.”

  “So NASA believes it wasn't a space rock, but a craft of extraterrestrial origin, is that what you're saying?”

  “Yes, they are confident of that.”

  “And what, may I ask, do you squints think was inside this spaceship?”

  “We don't know, but at first it was thought that, if anything was inside the craft, it couldn't have possibly survived the explosion, then we started getting the reports about the zombies.”

  “You're joking, right?” Saul said, throwing his hands in the air, “What are we, shooting some kind of fucking B-movie?”

  “General Adams!” Marcia said, “If you cannot keep your conversation civil and on topic, I will have you removed and ask General Hernandez to recommend another special operations commander to be on the team.”

  Saul turned his face toward Marcia and drew a sharp breath as if he were going to speak, but General Oscar Hernandez, Commandant of the Marine Corps and member of President Kinsdale’s Joint Chiefs of Staff, spoke first. ”Commander,” he said, “stand down. You’re here at my invitation because your unit is trained to deal with biological hazards and we need a big dose of that right now, but I will not allow this veiled insubordination to continue any longer. Whatever misogynistic world view you got running through your head right now doesn't matter. President Kinsdale is our CIC and you will respect the office of the president or I swear to El Dios that I will have you in front of a military tribunal so fast your head will spin. Are we clear?”

  “I don't believe you have the authority to do that,” Saul said.

  “I bet my four stars to your two that I do. Want to try me?”

  Saul relaxed, then leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Touché, General. The floor is all yours doc.” He waved for Harold to continue.

  “Uh… ok,” Harold said, “where was I? Ok, a few hours after the explosion, rumors began to circulate out of Houston about half human zombies roaming the streets, attacking people, killing them, then dragging the bodies away.”

  “Oh come on,” Craig said, “folks down there just got a ten megaton bomb dropped on their heads, of course they’re panicking. With all the chaos going on, people are bound to see or say anything.”

  “We thought so too, but the reports are credible,” Harold replied, “we were able to examine the bodies of some of these so-called zombies and confirmed that people are being affected by something we believe was contained within the craft. An extraterrestrial virus.”

  “What do you mean, like some kind of space bacteria?” Jim asked.

  “Yes, something like that, but much more sophisticated. Based on the reports I’ve seen, the consensus is that this virus was engineered to have a particular effect on humans.”

  “See? That sounds like a bio-weapon to me,” Saul said, “we have no problem manufacturing those right here in the good old USA. Right Jim?”

  “You're out of line General Adams!” Jim said.

  “I know, I know, it’s all classified,” Saul said, his hands up in mock surrender, “but my point is you squints could be completely wrong about this thing being extraterrestrial. It could just as easily be the Russians, and while we spin our wheels chasing space ghosts, they could be readying another attack.”

  “It's not the Russians Saul,” Oscar said, “or any of the usual suspects, we have clear Intel on that. On top of the devastation this explosion has caused on the ground, the effect of this virus has unleashed holy hell on the surviving population.”

  “What kind of effect?” Jim asked.

  Oscar nodded for Harold to continue.

  “The virus infects the host’s mitochondrial DNA,” Harold said, “initiating a transformation that affects every system in the body, including the brain. We haven’t been able to fully test it because all the severely infected people we have come across so far were already deceased. The virus seems to know when it's host has died and initiates some sort of self-destruct, destroying the host body via rapid decomposition. What we do know is the virus initiates a series of hormonal changes in the brain, causing a wholesale rewiring of brain structure and chemistry, causing the infected person to indiscriminately attack and infect others and eventually triggering a complete breakdown of the body's muscle and internal organs.”

  Jim leaned back in his chair, touched his fingertips together, and closed his eyes. “How exactly is this virus spreading?” he asked without opening his eyes.

  “We know the initial vector of infection was airborne,” Harold said, “the virus seems to have been engineered to survive its trip through deep space encased in a graphene bubble, or vesicle only a few atoms thick, just big enough to contain one virus cell. Once the meteorite entered our atmosphere and exploded, it pushed a tremendous amount of dust into the air. We estimate that this dust contained hundreds of trillions of these graphene vesicles, designed specifically to protect the virus within it from the heat and pressure of the explosion. The vesicles settle to earth and once they make contact with a potential host, the vesicle dissolves and the virus is absorbed into the body. We think the virus enters the body in one of three ways: It can be inhaled, ingested, or absorbed directly into the bloodstream. If infected via one of the first two methods, the body seems to be able to fight off the virus and recover, with most only experiencing severe flu-like symptoms and vivid dreams or hallucinations. It is the last method of infection that is the most worrisome, as we believe that it is this main-lining, if you will, of large doses of the virus directly into the bloodstream that causes the transformative effects I mentioned earlier. Also, as I mentioned, host-to-host transmission, via a bite or scratch from a severely infected host, is immediate and seems to be another primary vector for infection.”

  “So people who are infected are compelled by this virus to infect others?”

  “We think so, yes.”

  “So how fast is it spreading and how do we stop it?”

  “We don’t have a good handle on answers to either of those questions. It’s difficult to estimate the infection rate with so many dead from the explosion, but based on the number of bodies that show evidence of having been infected, it’s estimated that there are no fewer than twenty thousand active carriers within a five mile radius of ground zero. We’ve imposed a round-the-clock curfew and a blockade of every major roadway in and out of the city. The goal is to keep people indoors and therefore limit the chances that they’ll become infected. But if we don't figure out a way to stop this thing, the number of cases could easily double by this time tomorrow. At that rate, and with the devastation already present, th
e entire surviving population of Houston could be infected in as little as a week.” Harold glanced at his watch. “But those are all preliminary, back-of-the-envelope numbers. It’s only been six hours since the event. We hope to know more when the sun comes up in about two hours.”

  “So what happens if any of those already infected break containment?” Saul asked.

  “That’s why I invited you to this meeting Saul,” Oscar said, “I wanted you to hear this first hand. I need CBRN on the ground in Houston in six hours. The National Guard are holding their own but I need the professionals in there. We can’t afford to have our soldiers killing innocent civilians because they thought they saw a bogeyman. The goal is to eliminate every vector for infection and to create a safe perimeter around the evacuation zone we have set up at the football stadium complex. We’ve closed the roof of the football stadium and sealed the entire field off from the outside air so it can be used to house survivors. The science team will brief you on what to look for to determine who’s infected. I’m told they want us to capture a few of the infected alive if possible, but the number one priority is to stop the spread of this virus.”

  “Oh, it won't be a problem General,” Saul said, ”my boys will leave no stone unturned.”

  “Just make sure you're not out there killing civilians indiscriminately,” Marcia said, “It is very bad optics for the American military to be spilling American blood on American soil.”

  “If this bioweapon, or virus, or whatever we’re calling it, gets into the wild and starts infecting the general population, bad optics will be the least of your problems, Madam President.”

  Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Marcia thought, the words were perched on the tip of her tongue, begging to be let loose. She wanted to smack that self-satisfied smirk off of Saul’s face, but instead she just sighed, said nothing, and tried her best to look past him.

  “What are we telling the public?” Craig asked, “We can't keep this under wraps for too long. The city looks like a bombed out war zone, with the dead and dying all over the place, so right now nobody is paying attention to the military personnel in hazmat suits or the decontamination tents. But eventually, we’re going to have to come up with a plausible explanation for all of it, especially if that infection rate holds.”

  “The CDC has every virologist with a high enough security clearance working on isolating and nullifying the virus,” Harold said, “but it’s going to take some time. I suggest we avoid burdening the public with any more traumatic information. The stress level of the American people is high enough already.”

  “Inside the impact zone,” Jim said, “we don't have a reliable way of getting info to the masses as there isn't much working infrastructure due to widespread damage and a power outage that encompasses the entire southeast quadrant of the state. There is a communications blackout of the entire Houston metropolitan area. We are in the process of establishing emergency communication centers so we can broadcast over a wide range of the AM and FM spectrum, but we're still a few hours from bringing that online. Unfortunately, the communications void has left room for the crazies to create all sorts of conspiracy theories regarding the nature of the explosion and those conversations are gaining traction via shortwave radio and word of mouth. There is one radio station still in operation in the city, a KDDP 740 AM, just on the outskirts of Houston. Apparently, the guy who owns the station is one of those doomsday prepper types, and he built his studio in a fortified underground bunker with self-sustaining power and provisions. They claim they can stay holed up there and broadcast for several more weeks.”

  “Well, thank god for that,” Marcia said, “at least there is one way we can get good information to people.”

  “Unfortunately no, Madam President. The vast majority of their programming is anti-government propaganda. They're airing very little of our official story, and the snippets that are getting aired are tainted by the rhetoric of the pundits they have holed up there. As a matter of fact, they're claiming the explosion was a nuclear attack perpetrated by Muslim terrorists and masterminded by the Russian government.”

  “Couldn't we just take over the station, commandeer it maybe?”

  “We could easily do that,” Oscar said, “but not before they broadcast what we were doing to the entire city. It would only validate their crazy theories and make it even more difficult for us to do our job. For now we are better off leaving them alone. We are countering their propaganda with shortwave broadcasts of our own and once our radio transmitters are operational we can drown them out.”

  “Thank you General,” Marcia said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a daunting task ahead of us. Not since the great Galveston hurricane of 1900 has a natural disaster caused such devastation and loss of life. On top of this, we face a biological threat that could plunge our nation, and maybe the world, into an economic and environmental abyss from which it may never emerge. We must move quickly to restore order, normalcy, and hope. I am putting my trust in each of you to do your job to the best of your ability, because the lives of millions depend on it.”

  Oscar stood up. “Madam President, if I may speak for everyone in this room, you can count on us.”

  Marcia looked around the room. Heads were nodding in agreement with the General’s words, with the exception of General Adams. He was staring at his fingers, apparently admiring his manicure. My god, she thought, I'm about to leave the fate of the nation, maybe the entire goddamn planet, in the hands of a narcissistic sociopath. God help us.

  20

  Jill was in excruciating pain. A pain so intense that it was difficult to focus, to gain purchase with reality. She saw through eyes that moved without her permission. What they saw when they looked down and swept across her body horrified her. Her once beautiful breasts were gone. All that was left was a blot of sagging, wrinkled skin and a pair of nipples that resembled two badly tied knots in a deflated punch ball. A jolt of pain stabbed her in her gut. She winced and stumbled against the dining room table. She maneuvered slowly through her townhome, stepping on broken glass and bumping into overturned furniture.

  Colonel Dan! No, it wasn't Colonel Dan who did this to you! It was someone—something—else.

  She sensed a presence within her. It clawed up her spine and filled her skull to the breaking point. She screamed and fell to the floor, blinded. Every part of her being felt torn, she could no longer sense her body. She was floating in space, and all she could feel was pain. She screamed for relief, a respite from her suffering, but no sound escaped from her lips. She thrashed hoping for comfort, but felt no movement. Her eyes were open, but she saw nothing.

  Am I dead?

  No, her pain was too real, as was her anguish.

  Oh God! Where am I? What’s happening to me?

  It was her last coherent thought.

  The entity awoke. Confusion clouded its mind as it struggled to make sense of its new host’s body plan. The urge to panic was strong, but it willed itself to remain calm. It knew its ancient mind yearned for a body that no longer existed, a body that had long ago disintegrated into dust. It relaxed, savored consciousness, and allowed its mind to do what it must—what it always has done—since the stars sparked to life and worlds formed at their feet. The creature it inhabited was a crude carbon-based lifeform. The entity was surprised such a primitive form of life could survive long enough to achieve sentience. But the cocoon that deposited it on this world would not have done so unless there were a species present capable of containing its essence. It wasn’t long before its mind understood the input from the sensory organs of its host. Perception flooded its consciousness. Again, it had to enforce a calmness on its conscious thought, lest it damage the host organism. It opened its eyes and looked out upon the alien world it would now call home. The remnant components of the host consciousness, the entity once called Jill, proved useful in identifying its surroundings. It stood and surveyed its location. It could not sense others of its kind though it knew they must be pre
sent, as it was the cocoon’s protocol to seed a wide area once an appropriate population of hosts were identified.

  No matter, it thought, I must begin my work.

  21

  “Push!” Ray said, his face pressed against the Ford Fiesta’s rear quarter panel. His hamstrings burned from exertion and the heel of his steel-toed boot scraped loudly against the concrete driveway as he struggled to get the vehicle moving up a slight incline on the uneven driveway. “Come on Spuds, put your back into it.”

  “I’m trying man,” Spuds said from the opposite side of the rear bumper, “this car is heavier than it looks, esé.”

  Terp stuck his head out the driver’s side window. “You both best do more pushing than talking,” he said in the loudest whisper he could muster, “or this is gonna be one hell of a short trip. No telling what kind of drones and shit they got out here.”

  Ray looked up at the star-filled sky and shuttered. He felt the pitch black pressing in on him, weighing on him like a damp blanket. He shook it off and tried to concentrate. “Come on fellas, we just need to push the car down the road apiece before we start it so as not to attract any unnecessary attention.”

  “Who in the hell is going to see us out here, homie?” Spuds said. “Hell homie, I can’t even see you and you’re right next to me. This dark ain’t no joke homie.”

  Ray took two steps to the right and got close enough to Spuds so Terp couldn't overhear their conversation. “You ain’t afraid of the dark, are you Spuds?”

  “Nah cuz, I’m good. I just ain’t never seen no shit like this before, all these stars and shit. It’s freaky.”