The Melanin Apocalypse

by Darrell Bain

  “While blacks have no hope of surviving,” Brenham said, unable to help himself, nor able to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

  “I’m sorry, Joshua. I’m as sorry as can be. But how were we to know?”

  The president was right in one respect, Mary Hedgrade thought. In the beginning, no one had any idea of the enormity of the consequences soon to arise from those first reports coming in from Nigeria. At first she hadn’t believed it was possible herself, then that it might be, but that no one could possibly be so evil as to introduce that kind of virus into the world. And finally, when the evidence became overwhelming, she had put her face in her hands and wept. Once Mary realized what had happened, she had kept a very tight rein on all information the CDC discovered about the Harcourt virus, but she soon realized that concealment was not only pointless, but counterproductive. Only a White House directive had kept her from disseminating the CDC findings to the world. Not that it would do any good now, she thought. As Brenham had noted, the initial phase was past. For most of the susceptible population, nothing could be done for them unless a miracle occurred. It would simply have to run its course. She shivered and her mind returned to the conference room.

  “How about nukes? Is there a possibility some country will try bombing us even if they can’t prove we started it?” General Newman spoke again. Rows of ribbons adorning his uniform attested to his experience, though if one knew how to read the decorations it would be apparent that there were none denoting combat. He was a political general, one of the breed who made rank by cozying up to and catering to politicians.

  Brenham gave him a sour glance. “Who can predict what’s going to happen when people start dying? All you can do is keep our forces alert.”

  “Luckily, the virus won’t be so lethal in the countries that have nukes,” Conrad Seigler observed.

  “Yeah, luckily,” Brenham responded, unable to keep his voice from trembling. He wanted this to end so he could leave. The only thing keeping him now was his loyalty, not to the president, but to the institution of the Presidency.

  “China might be a problem,” Mary said. Her head was down, glancing at the notes on her PDA. “Their population is borderline. I think more than eighty per cent of them will survive, but there are going to be a hell of a lot of sick puppies there for a while. And sick men aren’t always rational.”

  “You don’t have to be sick to be irrational!” Brenham shouted, then hung his head, ashamed at the outburst. But damn, it was hard to keep it inside. Here these people were talking about a quarter of the world dying, yet they were safe and he was dead and his family was dead. It was so goddamned unfair!

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I hear you got a promotion,” June remarked. They had finished their first glass of wine and were waiting on the food.

  “Uh, huh,” Doug confirmed. “I get to be responsible for everyone else’s mistakes now.”

  June laughed. “The price of being good. I guess I’ll be staying here, too. Amelia recommended me for a spot on her staff as her assistant. Administrative work is a little out of my line, but it will be interesting.”

  “Congratulations. I’m glad for you, June.”

  “Well, I got my fill of being lazy back home. And I imagine this place will be hopping for years to come.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Doug agreed. He didn’t offer any of the scary visions of what he thought would be happening in the country before long, not to mention the rest of the world. He knew from hard-won experience how violently people could react when they felt threatened.

  The food arrived and for a time they simply ate and compared notes.

  “No children,” June said. “We were about ready but then… well, anyway, I have no one dependent on me. Dad still works for an oil company in Montana but he’s getting ready to retire… Doug, do you think they’ll be safe? Or how about if they move back to Texas like they say they’re going to? Dad’s something of a pacifist so far as guns are concerned. He thinks they should be outlawed.”

  “I wish I could tell you they weren’t in danger, but—June, everyone is going to have to pull their heads in before long. When our black population starts dying in numbers, I think it will get bad. And here’s another statistic I haven’t heard much talk about. The military is about 25% black. I don’t know about the Hispanic percentage, but it’s fairly high, too. The army will be real short handed before long.”

  “What will that mean?”

  Doug had already said more than he intended to. “Oh, hell, I don’t know, really. It’s a situation made for trouble, though. I just hope the government is taking steps to compensate for the loss of so many of their people, military and civil service. Back to your original question, though. I think your parents are probably safer in Montana than where we are, simply because they live in an area with a small population of blacks.”

  “That’s what I think, too. I know it sounds like I’m… well, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. When threats arise, people want to protect their own. It’s just human nature. And I’ll tell you something else, June. If I were black, I’d be more than just pissed off; I’d be thinking of revenge, especially if someone close to me died from the bug. In my opinion, the riots we’ve seen in the past are going to seem tame compared to what I expect we’ll see before long.” He reflected on their conversation.

  “For two people who didn’t intend to talk business, we can’t seem to stay off it, can we?” He had revealed much more of his anxieties about the future than he intended

  “I guess it’s on everyone’s mind right now.” She pushed her plate away and sipped at her wine.

  “Dessert?”

  “I shouldn’t, but…” The sounds of approaching sirens interrupted her.

  Both she and Doug listened alertly. There were more than just one. The noise approached, then faded, only to have the sound of another warbling siren grow in volume, then another.

  “Somehow, I’d feel better if I got on back,” Doug said. “I don’t know if that’s where they’re going, but it sounds like they’re heading in the direction of the CDC.”

  “I think I’ll follow you. It may be nothing, but then again…”

  “Yeah. Stay close.”

  Doug caught the waiter’s eye. He paid and they left quickly.

  When Doug saw a solid phalanx of flashing tail lights ahead of them on the loop, he signaled for a turn and watched closely in the rear view mirror to be sure June was following. She turned off with him, two exits before the off ramp he normally would have taken to get back to the CDC. He knew another way.

  It might take a bit longer, but it was safer, he thought. Then right after they exited, he realized they might have been better off staying on the freeway. Traffic appeared to be heavy in this direction, too.

  As he continued to check and make sure June was close behind, he turned right, then right again, trying to go back and swing even farther around the area where his radio was saying a demonstration had gotten out of hand. He was beginning to suspect it was more than just “out of hand” and was cursing himself for leading June into it.

  For a few moments he thought they were going to get clear without any more problems when he heard the ripping noise of a machine pistol on full automatic, loud even through the closed window of his car.

  Behind him, he saw June’s car swerve off the road and up onto the adjoining sidewalk before veering back onto the street and coming to a jarring halt against the rear end of a parked car.

  Doug stood on the brakes and twisted the steering wheel. His vehicle slid sideways, narrowly avoiding another car speeding recklessly in the other direction. He got the car into reverse gear while hitting the switch for the driver’s window. It came all the way down automatically. Looking backward, he saw figures emerging from another car. Its occupants had been waiting at a side street for anyone with a white face to pass. He thought some of their gunfire must have been meant for him. If so, they had missed—but raked June’s car with
a row of bullets, hitting the hood and side window and blowing out a rear tire.

  He backed quickly, but not quite fast enough. A black youth was already pulling the door of June’s car open. She was screaming. Doug stopped, jumped from his car and yelled. The youth behind the one trying to yank June from the vehicle whirled and fired. Doug dropped instinctively as he saw what the boy intended and had his own little automatic in his hand as he hit the ground and rolled, with chips of concrete and asphalt chasing him. He raised his pistol and fired once, twice. The young black man fell.

  The other tugged at June harder, not realizing that his companion had been shot. He staggered backward with a piece of June’s blouse in his hand and tripped over the sprawled body of his cohort. Cursing, he drew a short barreled pistol and fired wildly in Doug’s direction.

  Still lying prone, Doug aimed and shot once. That was enough. His bullet punctured the youth’s trachea just below his chin and shattered the vertebrae behind it. He dropped, with blood spurting from his throat in a red fountain. Doug ran forward while trying to look everywhere at the same time. He ducked his head and peered into the driver’s compartment of June’s vehicle, dreading what he might see. June uttered a short scream and shrank away from him, then saw who it was.

  “Doug! Thank God!” She clambered out, shaking as if she had palsy.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here!” Doug said, daring to breathe again. He took her hand and hurried her toward his car. Seconds later he was speeding away, not worrying at all over possible repercussions from the two young men he had killed. Gene would see that no charges were brought, even supposing he or his car was identified.

  As soon as he felt like they were out of danger, he pulled over to the side of the street. June came into his arms, still shaking. Doug comforted her while still remaining alert, then as soon as she quieted, he replaced the three cartridges he had spent and holstered the little automatic.

  “I didn’t even know you were carrying a gun!” June said. There was still a tremor in her voice. She suddenly realized that almost the whole front of her blouse was missing and that one of the shoulder straps of her bra had been torn loose, almost freeing her left breast from the cup. She gathered what material she could and held it close to her chest.

  “Well, I don’t advertise it all over the place, but I’m glad I had it tonight. Can we go on now? Or if you like, I have an old shirt in the trunk. I can get it for you.”

  “No! Let’s just go on!”

  The route he was on now took them to the other side of the CDC complex and on toward the security building with no more problems. Nevertheless, he kept his gun laying in his lap and continually scanned the streets for possible danger. On the way, Doug said “I’m sorry I got your car all shot up. I should have taken the longer way to begin with.”

  “It’s all right, you couldn’t have known. Besides, it’s insured. Did… did you kill those boys? I don’t think they were even grown yet.”

  “Yes, they’re dead. I didn’t have time to do anything else and they were trying to kill me.”

  “And God knows what they had in mind for me. Thank you. You’ve saved my life again.”

  “After risking it first. Not a good way to go about rescuing a damsel in distress. Have you still got your phone?”

  “Yes, I have it—oh damn, no I don’t. I forgot my purse! Don’t go back for it, though.”

  Doug took his phone out and handed it to her. “Why don’t you call in and see if there’s problems at work? Just press the call button and hit seven, then hand it to me.” He could have managed, but he didn’t want to take his eyes from the road even for a second.

  June took the phone, fumbled with it a moment while her breast almost escaped again, then handed the phone to Doug.

  He listened for a second then said “This is Doug Craddock. I’m on Edge Street, coming in the back way.

  Do you have problems there?” He waited a moment, then spoke again. “Uh huh. Tomorrow? All right.

  Pass the word up that I’ll be on the cell phone if I’m needed. Yeah, that’s right. It’s posted. Okay, thanks.” He flipped the cover closed and stuck it back in his pocket.

  “It’s about what I thought after we left Morgan’s. The riot, as they’re calling it, is happening along Elderberry avenue and west of there. That area is mostly lower class and mostly black. Apparently some of the local toughs took it upon themselves to rid the neighborhood of any whites at all. It spread from there. We just happened to be caught by a couple of the kids that were driven off by the police. Bad luck. CDC is secure, though. All the action is several blocks away and about under control now.

  However, we’re all being recalled, as of tomorrow. No more off-campus living. They’ve got an extra crew doing a rush job on the place next door, turning it into temporary living quarters until our building at the CDC is ready.”

  “Is the recall just for the security guys or the medical staff, too?”

  “Just us so far, but I expect everyone will be hunkering down there before long.” Doug glanced over at her then looked away. “I’ve been heading toward the security building. Shall I take you home?”

  “Doug… I don’t want to be alone right now. Could you stay with me?” Realizing that he might think she was implying more than just company, she amended the invitation—or request. She wasn’t sure which it was. “I don’t mean… um, that…”

  “It’s okay. I know what you mean. Sure, I could stay with you, for tonight, anyway. I just can’t guarantee I won’t get called in, though.”

  “Well, let’s go anyway. It’s not all that far from work. I’ll pack a bag and if you get called, I’ll go in with you and stay in one of the transient apartments. There’s always some empty ones. Or there have been in the past.”

  “Okay, which way?”

  June gave him directions. As they turned into the apartment complex she directed him to, Doug burst out laughing.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing, except that we live in the same place.”

  June’s lips parted in surprise. She giggled, then gasped. “Good Lord. It’s like a bad plot from a romance novel. But why—oh, I remember. You said you hardly ever stayed here. That’s why we haven’t seen each other in passing.”

  It turned out that they were even in the same twenty four unit building of the six structures comprising the Southern Arms Apartments, and both were downstairs, though on opposite sides of the building.

  The only difference in their apartments was the décor and furnishings, but while Doug knew his own place hardly looked lived in, June had already made hers into something resembling a home, even with what he suspected was rented furniture. He could definitely tell the difference. It made him nostalgic, remembering all the little touches Doris had used in their home that he would never have thought of.

  “I’m going to have a bourbon and water as soon as I’ve changed,” June announced. “There’s wine in the fridge if you’d rather stick with that. Make yourself comfortable while I go change clothes.” She hurried into the master bedroom and closed the door.

  The kitchen area was open. Doug found the bourbon and made them each a drink, his a double. Once the shooting was over he had noticed a tremor in his body from the adrenalin rush that still hadn’t gone completely away.

  While waiting on June to return, he called Gene Bradley. “Should I report it?” he asked after telling his story.

  “I’ll take care of it, Doug. I doubt there’ll be much fuss raised. Those two weren’t the only deaths. A lot of whites were pulled from their cars and lynched before the police could get on it. Whites started retaliating, then the police had to fire on gangs from both sides to break them up. Hell, they even had to shoot two of their own black policemen who were taking part in the riot, as the media is calling it.”

  “Thanks, Gene. I’ll be in tomorrow morning, first thing, but call if you need me before then.”

  “No problem. See me when you get here.” The phone clic
ked dead as he heard the bedroom door opening. June came back in, wearing jeans and a short white blouse ending at her waist.

  “I went ahead and made your drink. I put it over ice. Hope that’s all right.”

  June sat down beside him on the couch and picked up the glass. She sipped then smiled. “Perfect. Want to turn on the TV and see what they’re saying?”

  “Yes, I would,” Doug said. Regardless of Gene’s assurance, he wanted to know if the cops were looking for him.

  If they were, it wasn’t apparent. All the reporting was centered around the residential and small business area where most of the violence had occurred. It wasn’t yet known exactly what had set off the rampage, other than the increasing number of blacks becoming ill or dying—while whites remained completely immune. Most of the businesses in the area had been looted then set on fire. A few were still blazing and a pall of smoke hung over the whole area.

  “Someone leaked that information!” June said when the anchor began telling how the Harcourt virus had spread around the world as much as two years ago, then remained dormant until the present.

  “They must have. I haven’t heard that yet, even as a rumor.”

  “We just learned it a few days ago, but for the life of me, I don’t know why we were required to keep it secret. I can’t see where that helps a damn bit!”

  “I’d bet it was being suppressed to give our politicians time to come up with a good answer for why it wasn’t caught back then. And by now, I’d also bet they know its origin.”

  “Why wouldn’t they release that information if they know? It seems to me like that would ease some of the unrest.”

  Doug shook his head and grinned cynically. “Not if it’s our own people who started it, they wouldn’t.”