The Melanin Apocalypse

by Darrell Bain

  “No, just eight hours out of each twenty four, but unfortunately, my section drew the night shift the first go round, midnight until eight. We start tonight.”

  “You’re off during the rest of the time, though?”

  “Well—officially, but in reality, I have to be available any time. I don’t have to stay in our compound, though, so long as my phone is working and I don’t go far.”

  “Good. I work tomorrow but we’re getting one day a week off and the day after tomorrow is Sunday.

  Come over to the transient apartments as soon as you’re free that morning and I’ll make us something to eat. It’s on the second floor and has my name on the door.” June had managed to get one of the last of the units available and moved in immediately.

  “That sounds great, but I don’t want to put you out by cooking for me.”

  “Not to worry. I hate to fix a meal just for myself. About nine? Will that give you time to get your whiskers off?”

  “Sure. Okay, thanks, June. I’ll see you then.”

  Doug began cleaning and checking his weapons, including the little .25 automatic he intended to give to June. Presently, he found himself whistling.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Sir, we have to do it, even if we have to fight our way in. Regardless of what else happens, we can’t let our oil supplies perish, and that’s not to mention several nuclear power plants that need securing. We simply can’t let those go unattended. You remember what happened with just that one in Russia, or the Ukraine maybe, I don’t remember exactly. Chernobyl. And that other one. They both caused horrendous contamination even though they were contained before they blew completely. Think what would happen if one went all the way out of control. And we’re going to need every bit of oil we can get if we intend to remain a player in world politics. Alternate fuels and our polymerization plants won’t make up the difference yet.” Joshua Brenham figured this would be his last meeting as a cabinet officer. The first symptoms of the Harcourt virus had started a few days before and were becoming worse as time went on. He had taken a pain pill before arriving at the conference room. Whatever happened, and regardless of his personal feelings, he wanted his legacy to be that of one who had done his best, not only for the country but for the world as a whole.

  President Marshall rubbed his chin and didn’t answer. He had been entertaining vague notions of colonizing some of the empty continent once the blacks all died off. Particularly the oil producing areas, like Nigeria. Joshua was finally giving him advice he wanted to hear.

  “We can’t do it all, man,” Borland Newman countered, looking directly at Joshua. “We’re going to lose thirty percent of our military to that goddamned virus as is! And I just met with the joint chiefs. We need to federalize the air carriers to try getting more of our people home, particularly from Africa. Now you want me to send troops for something else? Can’t the U.N. handle it? Besides, it might be better to let them blow.”

  “What!” Joshua couldn’t believe he had heard the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs right.

  “Stop and think a moment. According to trends, Africa is going to become almost completely depopulated. That’s going to leave the whole continent up for grabs, just like back in colonial days. And while it’s happening, we’re going to be busier than the other great powers because of our own population mix. Where do you think we’ll stand in the world if we let the Europeans, or China or hell, even Russia take over?”

  “General, there aren’t but a few nuclear plants in Africa, although we may need to keep our eye on several in the Middle East. The Muslim nations are becoming more belligerent than ever. Some of their people are infected too, you know.”

  “My job is to tend to the security of the country, Joshua. And speaking of which, Mr. President, I want the rest of the National Guard federalized.”

  “All of them?” the president asked mildly. “I’ve already given you two divisions.”

  “Yes, sir. Every single one. And while you’re at it, start thinking about the draft—especially if you want me to divert troops for humanitarian missions as Joshua requested.”

  Brenham stared balefully at the four star general, but made no other comment. He had already argued privately with the president about the matter.

  “I think our own country has to come first,” President Marshall said. “However, we can try working with the U.N.”

  “With what?” General Borman asked.” He shuffled the briefing papers on the table in front of him, as if to remind the president again of how thinly stretched his forces were. “We’re going to lose a good many of our expatriates as is. We simply haven’t got the facilities to get to every damn corner of that benighted continent, much less start meddling in the Middle East again. If we do anything at all, it should be to help secure only the plants that we know for certain are going to be abandoned, and if we have to, try to grab selected oil fields. But while we’re at it, you’d better get Homeland Security to pay attention to our own nuclear facilities. The way things are going, some of the mobs may try capturing one to hold over our heads.”

  “For what?”

  “Damn it Joshua, you know as well as I do. Most of the blacks in this country think the white race started the virus and that we can cure it if we have a mind to. That’s what I’m talking about. They may take a plant hostage and demand that we produce a cure.” He stared belligerently at the Secretary of State, willing him to understand.

  “Gentlemen.” The president’s voice stopped the bickering. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll federalize the rest of the National Guard and authorize calling up the inactive reserves as well. I’ll go to Congress and ask for a draft, but don’t expect any action there immediately. You know how slow work.”

  “That’s okay, Mr. President,” General Newman said. “We need to get the Guard units up to speed first.

  Hell, even if we had a draft and just ran the draftees through minimal training, we’re talking several months before we’d get much use out of them.”

  “Fine, General. Now for the rest of the agenda. I want you to make plans to secure those few nuclear plants in Africa, then your next priority will be to make sure the U.S. has sufficient oil to last us through this emergency. If you have to invade some country, let me know and I’ll authorize it. No, better than that. I’ll give you a written directive now, authorizing the joint chiefs to use such force as they see fit, anywhere they feel it’s necessary, in order to assure our country has sufficient energy supplies and to keep it safe and functional. I’ll have it drawn up and get it to you later in the day, after my staff dresses it up in enough ambiguous language to stymie muck-racking reporters and the opposition in Congress.

  “And Joshua, I want you to work with our U.N. ambassador and see how much help you can wring out of those yahoos. Tell her…”

  Despite his personal dislike of the man, Joshua had to admit that he could make a decision when warranted. This time, though, he would have to get a new secretary of state to carry out his doctrines.

  “Mr. President, I’m sorry, but I shall have to tender my resignation today. It seems as though I have the Harcourt Virus. I won’t be able to work any longer.”

  The other two men at the table instinctively drew back from Brenham, even though intellectually they knew they couldn’t be infected.

  “Joshua, I’m very sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. I would simply hope that you’ll keep the research on the Harcourt Virus going at full speed, particularly at the CDC. That’s the only real hope for us unless some other country comes up with more than we have so far.”

  “England and what’s left of the European Union are devoting as much of their resources as possible to a cure and a vaccine, Joshua. Maybe between them and us, or perhaps in other countries, we can come up with something before…” His voice trailed off, but Joshua knew what he meant.

  “I sincerely hope so, Mr. President. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want t
o go home and be with my family.

  General. Mr. President.” He nodded at both of them and took his leave.

  After he was gone, President Marshall stared at General Newman, who seemed to be lost in thought.

  “General, is your mind moving in the same path as mine?”

  Newman smiled thinly. He knew exactly what the president was thinking. “Yes, sir. If we can hold the country together, and this thing doesn’t start a world war, it will have taken care of one big trouble area in the country.”

  “Exactly. No more race problems.”

  “Black race problems, at least,” Newman agreed, nodding to himself. “The virus will effectively eliminate all the damn promotion quotas, outreach programs, affirmative action, interracial discord and all the other factors involving race that the army or the country shouldn’t have to worry about.”

  * * *

  Doug yawned despite the coffee he had consumed during the night and the two additional cups he had with the breakfast June made for them.

  “Sleepy?” June asked when she saw Doug trying to cover it up.

  “Uh huh. A sudden change in sleeping patterns is hard on the body. Then just about the time we get used to it, we’ll be off for a week, then on the day shift, then on the evening and so on.”

  “I’ve worked days most of my career. Isn’t there an easier way to do it?”

  “Sure. Stay on the same shift all the time. But with this many people, you’d always have some who didn’t like the hours, regardless of which rotation they were on.” He yawned again. “Listen, I’d better go hit the sack. Thanks for the breakfast.”

  “I enjoyed doing it.”

  Doug stood up and June walked him to the door. He stopped there before opening it. “June, how about when I’m on my week off? Can we get together then?”

  She smiled at him. “We don’t have to wait that long. Why don’t you come over Wednesday evening for a little while if you can. Call first, though. Amelia has me putting in overtime most days.”

  Doug tipped her chin up and brushed her lips with his. “That sounds fine. I’ll have to drink coffee or tea, though. Or maybe as many as two drinks, depending on how early it is before going to work. Can I bring some takeout?” He let his hand drop away from her chin.

  “If you like Chinese or Pizza, you can; otherwise I’ll make some sandwiches.”

  “Chinese it is.” He pulled the door open, suddenly feeling bashful and unsure of himself, thinking this was like dating as a teenager all over again.

  “Doug.”

  He turned to face June again, and felt a blush begin creeping over his face.

  June gazed at him from the depths of her lovely brown eyes, using them to hold him in place as effectively as gluing his feet to the floor would have done. “It’s like beginning to date all over again, isn’t it?” she said.

  “I think you’re a mind reader. I…” He was suddenly lost for words.

  June smiled pensively, then stepped closer, inviting him to embrace her. Her body felt small and soft and comfortable against his own, making him not want to leave.

  June pulled her lips from his after a long moment. “Go get some sleep. We can talk about it later.”

  She didn’t have to mention what she meant, and he was grateful for her presence of mind in putting it off until they were both rested. When it happened, he wanted the experience to be good for both of them.

  As he pulled away from the apartment parking lot he noticed that the dumpsters were full and bags were beginning to pile up around them. After thinking about it for a few minutes while driving back to the security building, he realized what was happening. Blacks and Mexicans handled almost all of the garbage details and they were either falling ill or quitting to be with family members who were sick. Or simply walking off and going home to nurse their boiling rage. He knew that if the Harcourt virus wasn’t brought under control soon, white America was going to begin to realize just how much they had come to depend upon unskilled labor for the tasks no one else wanted to do. Soon though, thoughts of his time with June pushed those deliberations aside. It was much nicer to visualize her and remember the pleasurable sensation of their embraces and kisses and fantasize about what might follow.

  On the way back to his own place, Doug noticed how many sign were going up proclaiming that The End Times were at hand, or that the Rapture was coming soon. Most of them urged unbelievers to accept Jesus so that they wouldn’t be left out. He hoped those types of people wouldn’t begin causing problems.

  The country had more than it could take care of already.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mary Hedgrade’s business in Washington was finished. For all that the briefing of the president had accomplished, she thought she could just as well have done it on a conference call and saved the time wasted flying to Washington and back. She knew that it was probably President Marshall’s penchant for secrecy that made him demand her physical presence. Her thoughts about the meeting caused her mind to drift so much that she didn’t notice when the limousine began slowing, nor how traffic was stacking up at an unreasonable rate for this time of day. When she did finally bring her attention back to the present, she glanced irritably at her watch, thinking there must be an accident somewhere ahead of them, and hoped it didn’t lead to missing her flight back to Atlanta. A few minutes later traffic came to a complete stop and she began to hear the warbling of sirens.

  After ten minutes with no movement, she tapped the plexiglass divider between her and the driver’s compartment to get the man’s attention. He had a cell phone to his ear and was listening avidly. When the tapping didn’t work, she glanced down and saw the button that activated the intercom. She pressed it and said “What’s happening? I’m going to miss my flight!”

  The driver answered in such a thick accent that she could barely understand one word out of three, but the gist of it seemed to be something about a mob and rioting. She thought she heard a reference to tear gas but wasn’t sure. The driver put the phone to his ear again, then held it away from him as if in surprise.

  He ended the call and turned on his radio.

  “Can’t you find an alternate route?” Mary asked then realized as soon as she had uttered the statement how foolish it was. There was no way to move; the taxi was hemmed in from all sides.

  “No,” the driver said brusquely. Nevertheless he began turning this way and that in his seat as though scanning for some way to escape the traffic tie up. He said something else that Mary didn’t understand.

  He sounded vaguely like a Russian scientist she had talked to some months ago through an interpreter.

  His appearance matched that of some Russians, at least, with his pale skin and just a hint of an epicanthic fold to his eyes. His face had a deer in the headlights stare, a frightened look like that she had seen on the patients in Nigeria arriving at the hospital for treatment.

  Mary couldn’t hear the radio; at first she thought it must not be working, then she saw the little wireless earpiece he must be using. He began staring at the radio console as if it were talking directly to him.

  Mary began to feel the first stirrings of fright. “What’s going on? What do you hear?” she demanded to know.

  The driver didn’t answer, even though he turned and stared at her as though she were an alien preparing to climb through the divider to get at him. Abruptly, he came to a decision. He opened his door and began weaving his way hurriedly through the close-packed vehicles. As soon as he made it to the sidewalk, he began running back the way they had come and was quickly lost from sight.

  Mary didn’t know what to do. Apparently he had heard something very scary from his phone or the radio. Others must have too, for more vehicles were emptying. Mary leaned forward and saw that he had left in such a hurry that he hadn’t even shut the motor off. The keys were still dangling in the ignition. She gathered her purse and briefcase and opened the rear door, drawing an irritated glance from the woman in a Mercedes next to the limousine
when her door banged into it. Mary tried to open the driver’s door and found it locked. It refused to budge. She swore when she found there was no way to get inside, short of breaking the window—and she had nothing to use for that purpose. She looked around, hoping for some help, but even the others who had stepped out of their vehicles ignored her. She didn’t even try to get a feed to her PDA, knowing the batteries had been exhausted during her meetings with the government officials. The back compartment of the limousine hadn’t had connections for recharging it.

  The people getting out of their cars all seemed to be looking ahead. Some had already decided to abandon them and were walking around indecisively once they reached the sidewalks. She quickly saw why. Not too far in the distance a billow of smoke was rising from behind the conglomeration of one and two story buildings of a small shopping center. As she stared at it, a flicker of flame appeared at the base of the smoke. The sirens were still wailing but not sounding much closer and no emergency vehicles were in sight. She thought she could hear shouting voices mixed with the warbling of the sirens but couldn’t be sure—until a few minutes later.

  It was screams rather than shouts she identified, screams of terror, and they were coming closer. She stood, vacillating for a moment, then decided to follow her driver’s example. She threaded her way through the stalled traffic to the sidewalk and began walking. Others were doing the same, but many of them weren’t walking; they were running. Mary began to wish she had worn sensible shoes rather than the three inch heels on her feet. Moments later she quit worrying about her shoes. A crazed mob of blacks burst from a side street, plainly intent on violence toward any white person they saw. Mary kicked off her shoes and began running for her life. She made it two blocks before she plowed headlong into another gang emerging from the shattered doors of a liquor store they had been looting. Cries of ferocious triumph and elated epithets came from the looters as they surrounded her. Hands grabbed at her clothing and ripped her purse away. Other hands yanked at her hair and grubbed at her breasts.