The Melanin Apocalypse

by Darrell Bain

  “Doug, it was…” Her eyes rolled up and she lost consciousness. He touched her face. It felt cold and damp, symptoms of shock. He stood up and looked around, then grabbed some heavy volumes from a bookcase against one wall. He stretched Amelia’s body out and propped her feet up on them. That was all he could do. When he finished, he stood back up, staring at Qualluf with an expression of such raw hatred for the man that the preacher finally averted his gaze and returned to his chair behind the desk.

  * * *

  The stretcher bearers and Colonel Christian arrived at almost the same time.

  “Get her to a doctor soon as you can,” Doug instructed the men. “She’s in shock.” He watched them carry Amelia from the room at a fast pace, then before the guard could close the door, Colonel Christian was led into the room.

  “Who is it here that’s in contact with the vice president?” he asked immediately. Christian was a tall man with even features and the tanned skin that showed him to be a field officer.

  “I am,” Doug said. “Fridge, could we have some more coffee in here? This may take a while and I’m too tired to stay awake much longer.”

  “You don’t need no coffee,” Qualluf said.

  Fridge nodded to the guard, ignoring Qualluf’s baleful glare. He was gone less than a minute and returned bearing three Styrofoam cups of coffee. While he was out, Doug introduced himself, at the same time making a swift appraisal of Christian. He looked young to be a full colonel, indicating either a high level of competence or a lot of political pull.

  “I want to confirm those orders from the vice president,” Christian said. “Our military communications are still erratic. Someone must have put a satellite suppressor in the same orbit as ours.”

  “The phone’s still working. Let me try.” Doug dialed the number he had committed to memory. A woman with a pleasant voice answered. He identified himself and asked for the vice president. A moment later she was on the line.

  “Ma’am, I have Colonel Christian here and we’re with the leaders of the group holding the hostages.

  Their names are Qualluf Taylor of the Church of Blacks, and Ali Greene.” He handed the phone to the colonel.

  The brigade commander listened for a few moments, nodding his head occasionally. Finally he said “I understand, ma’am.” He flipped the phone closed and handed it to Doug, then turned his attention to the two black leaders.

  “All right, I’ve just been told that I’m to follow Mr. Craddock’s lead in the negotiations. Let’s get started.”

  Doug liked the man’s take charge attitude but wasn’t sure how well it would go over with Qualluf Taylor.

  The Church of Blacks’ leader was still glaring, first at Doug, then at Colonel Christian, and finally even at Fridge. Doug shrugged mentally and said “Mr. Taylor, we need to get the CDC back in operation as quickly as possible. They’re not just working on the Harcourt virus yet, though some drugs are showing promise. There’s a new virus loose as well.”

  “I know about the new one. First Blacks, now Muslims. And you telling me the government not behind it?”

  Doug sighed. The man was fixated on the idea and he didn’t have any idea how to get him off it. “I won’t argue the matter with you; the Vice President of the United States told me personally that she has no knowledge of government involvement and that the president himself gave her the authority to end this standoff. And I’ve already told you that so far as I know, there is not a cure for the Harcourt virus, not yet. Even a vaccine is still months away, if one can be developed at all. So tell me now, what is it you want?”

  Qualluf didn’t answer for long moments. He appeared to be running his options through his mind. Doug was about to ask again, when he broke the silence. “All us folk go free. You white boys can go free, but we keep the women to be sure you don’t renege.”

  “No. Here’s what we’ll do. Every one of you can go free. No retaliation. You release the hostages. You can leave a dozen observers of your own choice to remain here at the CDC. I’ll give them authority to poke into any records they want to. Any at all. They can stay as long as they like, observe any of the research they like and I’ll allow them to report back to you once a day.” He held up a finger to indicate that he wasn’t finished yet, then added “And I’ll recommend to the vice president that enforcement of drug laws be suspended insofar as it covers painkillers; heroin, morphine and the like. I can’t guarantee that last part; all I can do is ask. Now if that’s not enough, why don’t you tell me about anything else that’s bothering you.”

  “ You bothering us, just like you been for 500 years. We got your women already. And if they’s no cure, we dead anyway. Maybe we just keep them and see how long it take to fuck ‘em to death.” Qualluf grinned, displaying his diamond studded teeth.

  Doug clenched his teeth in an effort not to climb over the desk and throttle the black preacher. He’s playing to our fears, Doug thought, and he’s right. No matter how you feel intellectually, there’s always the cultural stuff. It’s hard to root out. Goddamn him, if… He bit his inner lip hard enough to draw blood. “You’re not going to do that, Mr. Taylor.”

  “I’m not, huh? How you planning on stopping me?”

  Doug looked at his watch. “If either myself or Colonel Christian aren’t back within another two hours, I’ve left word for my people to contact the army and tell them we’re dead. That will be their signal to re-take the CDC by force.”

  “We’ll set the motherfucking place on fire you try it.”

  “If we don’t come back, your only contact with the army or the government is dead. You’ll wind up tied to a post just like those sorryass white supremacists were, instead of being in line for the new drugs if they work. Why in hell don’t you try helping for a change?” The lie about having to make contact within two hours came out of his mouth so quickly that he didn’t know he had formed the idea until he had said it, and then he knew it was a precaution he should have put in place before coming here. If he and Christian both died, there would be no point in further negotiations, the way he saw it.

  Colonel Christian spoke for the first time, forming his words carefully. “Mr. Taylor, my original orders called for me to secure the CDC facility as my number one priority. It’s only through the good offices of the vice president that we didn’t simply move in here and kill every one of you that resisted. Now let me add something else to the discussion. Mr. Craddock?”

  “Go ahead Colonel.”

  “Before I left my headquarters, I gave orders to temporarily halt our advance and to fire only when fired upon. I don’t want any more civilian casualties than necessary to restore order. Agree to Mr. Craddock’s conditions and you can return with me and help settle the population down and put those rumors that started this fighting to rest. You would be doing both your country and your people a favor.”

  “Ain’t my country no more. No deal. Like I told you, we dead anyway.” Qualluf folded his arms across his chest again, as if prepared to wait for better terms.

  Exasperated, Doug looked over at Fridge. His friend had a distinctly uncomfortable expression on his face but appeared to be waiting on developments before making any kind of decision on his own.

  Somehow, he had to get Fridge over to the side of reason. He didn’t think that even losing his family could have robbed him of all the good he remembered in the man. He was trying to think of something else to say when a knock came at the door.

  “Come in!” Qualluf bellowed.

  A light complexioned black man with a pistol stuck in his belt stepped into the room. “Preacher, we just grab a white boy holdin’ a white flag. He say some Amelia bitch want to talk to the man here. He say it

  ‘portant, like about that ‘hannsen dude invented that viral be killin us. Say he has to know. What you want me do with him?”

  Doug stood up. He caught Amelia’s name and the reference to the scientist even through the thick vernacular of black patois the man spoke.

  “Colonel
, I think I better run back over there for a few minutes and see what this is about. Do you want to stay or go?”

  “I can stay for awhile. Perhaps Mr. Taylor and Greene and I can talk further while you’re gone.”

  “I ain’t say you can go yet,” Qualluf said, half rising from his chair.

  “Well, I’m going. Fridge, I need to speak to you for a moment.”

  “No!” Qualluf shouted.

  Doug stared daggers at the man. “Mr. Taylor, Fridge lost his wife and children to the Harcourt virus. I lost my wife to the Mall Terrorists. I promise, this is personal and has nothing to do with our negotiations.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll talk to him, Preacher,” Fridge said mildly. “Can’t hurt nothing. And maybe we better let him go see what’s so important back there.” Without waiting on an answer, he took Doug’s arm and escorted him out of the room.

  As quickly as they found a boundary of privacy in the hall, Fridge said “I didn’t know about that, Doug.

  I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks, Fridge. Listen, as badly as Amelia was hurt, she wouldn’t send for me if it weren’t something important. In the meantime, would you do me a personal favor?”

  “If I can.”

  “I just remarried. My wife’s name is June. She was on the admin staff. Would you see if she’s among the captives and if so, find out if she’s okay? And I’d appreciate it if you would keep it quiet.”

  “I can do that much. June you say? Describe her for me.”

  Doug did so. Fridge nodded, then said “Doug, try to get us out of this. I believe you, but that preacher got more power here than me and he’s convinced the government is behind the whole thing.” He looked down at his feet for a moment, then back up at Doug. “I was too, until I talked to you. I never knew you to lie.”

  “Thanks, Fridge. I’ll do my damnedest to get it done. And trust me, if I thought the government was behind this, I’d be on your side.”

  That drew a thin smile from the big man. He escorted Doug on down the hall and outside, then designated two guards to go with him back to the science building under a white flag. After that he went looking for June Craddock. He wondered if she were as nice a woman as Doug’s previous wife had been.

  On the way back, Doug mentally reviewed everything he knew about the preacher. He recalled reading that Qualluf had a PhD. in psychology. Was that why he was using black vernacular, to make him think he was dealing with a dumb black man? Probably he thought. Too bad the preacher didn’t know that Doug had managed to remove most of the negative cultural attitudes toward blacks he had grown up with. Being in the military and fighting alongside men and women of all races was one quick way to make both sides see how vulnerable they were—and how in a crunch, skin color was the last thing anyone thought of.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  President Marshall rubbed his hand over his face, feeling unshaven whiskers. It was late at night and his day hadn’t ended yet. Every time he tried leaving the Oval Office, something else came up to capture his attention and prevent him from getting some badly needed sleep.

  The latest crisis was in North Korea, where they were threatening nuclear retaliation for deaths caused by the Harcourt virus. Damned crazy Koreans, getting upset over casualties from the disease that were minuscule compared to some nations. Why hadn’t Clinton, or even Bush, taken out their nuclear capability when they had a chance? Goddamn wimps. Now look. He shoved the briefing paper toward the pile destined for the shredder. What did they expect him to do? Personally, he thought they were going off the deep end because the world economy had crashed, and without exports they couldn’t feed their people. They ought to be glad the Harcourt virus was thinning them out a little. Fewer mouths to feed.

  General Newman wanted to act now, take out their nukes, but he had refused. It might come to that, but he wasn’t going to start it. The little bastards had been digging into their mountains for damn near a quarter century. Deep probing satellite imagery showed so many tunnels and caverns that there was no way to get them all, despite the general’s confidence. That man was beginning to grate on his nerves. But what to do?

  Finally he pressed the button that called in an aide.

  “Get me Willingham. Tell him to get his ass up here as soon as possible.”

  It’s worth a try, he thought. Get China to do the job. They had the manpower and the nukes, if it came to that. Anything to keep them away from America. The nation was holding together but he didn’t think it could survive the panic that would be caused by an atomic explosion on North American soil. China’s war with Taiwan wasn’t going well. If he offered to stop all replacement munitions shipments to Taiwan and withdraw the few naval units near the island, maybe they would come around—if their government survived long enough. So many factories on the mainland had shut down that the peasants and workers were going hungry.

  Australia. Now that was one of the few nations in the world almost unaffected by the Harcourt virus.

  Damn smart of them, keeping blacks and Asians out of their country, and their indigenous blacks were no problem. Besides they would be dead soon. Australia had a fairly decent navy, according to General Newman. Suppose he offered some inducements, additional weapons perhaps, for them to send some troops to Africa and the Middle East? Maybe even South America, at selected ports that could be easily defended. Best to keep a toehold there if they could. At least the Aussies weren’t big enough to turn on the United States and had never developed nuclear weapons. He made another note for Willingham.

  He looked at his next brief and scribbled an okay with his distinctive flourish. Defaulting on some of the bonds held by foreigners and releasing the gold in Fort Knox to the citizenry would help stimulate the economy. Of course the default wouldn’t be couched in those terms. It would be worded as a

  “postponement in payment”, but he knew the debts would never be paid.

  Marshall sighed. Where was Willingham?

  A half hour later the man appeared, tie askew and hair uncombed, as if he had been running his fingers through it. The president frowned. He had never seen the man in such a state.

  “I’m sorry I was delayed, Mr. President, but a suicide squad just crashed a jetliner into a skyscraper in Chicago, and Turkey and the Kurds are fighting again. What are we going to do?”

  Marshall groaned. Would this madness never end? Goddamn it, the Arabs were finished. Why didn’t they just go quietly to their heaven and virgins and so forth and quit this martyr bullshit?

  * * *

  June did the best she could to keep the captives calm and under control and to give what little aid she could to some of the older workers who were prostrate with heat exhaustion. All she could really do was keep pushing liquids and bathing them with cool water. Fortunately, there was plenty of water and the guards allowed them to go to and from the fountains. She avoided the area where the smirking guard lolled in one of the padded lobby chairs, knowing he had turned her into a focal point; a visible object of the misery the blacks were suffering. She was scared of him. She had just finished tending to an older woman whose breathing was becoming irregular, using cool water carried from the drinking fountain, when the guards changed shifts. The smirking black who had been following her all day with his eyes didn’t leave the lobby like the others who had been relieved. Instead, he headed in her direction as she went over to check on a patient.

  The wounded and sick staff workers were laid out in rows at the edge of the crowd, where what little air circulation there was could get to them. Most of them were suffering silently, but a few were moaning with pain. June was kneeling by the side of a man, checking his pulse, when she felt a presence behind her. She looked around. The guard who had been watching her was wearing a leer now. “On your feet, bitch. Some other peoples got needs, too.” His lips split into a grin, displaying his missing teeth.

  June didn’t move, but simply stared up at him, in the manner of a death row inmate whose cell had just opened f
or the escort to enter, ready to usher the prisoner on the short but utterly terrifying last steps to the death chamber.

  The black’s lips closed in anger at her lack of response. A knife suddenly appeared in his hand as he leaned over her. The point broke the skin on the side of her neck, a pinprick, but it felt as though the knife was entering her body—just as this man planned on doing, and just as brutally as a knife blade would have been. His other hand closed over her upper arm, gripping it painfully. He jerked her to her feet. She felt more pain as he pulled on her, and felt the point of the blade dig in and open up a narrow cut. A second later it was at her back, probing at her spine as she felt blood wetting her blouse below the shallow neck wound.

  “This be sharp, bitch. How you like it you be par’lyzed? Move you pussy.”

  Stumbling with fear, June complied. She couldn’t endure the thought of the knife blade entering her spine, seeking out her spinal cord. Better to let him have his way and hope she survived. She had seen a figure out of one of the windows who she thought was Amelia, being carried back to the science building on a stretcher, and now she remembered the screams she had heard shortly after Amelia had been dragged off, to the same room this man was steering her toward. That’s going to happen to me, she thought, her mind skittering around imagined scenes, as if trying to find an alternate when the previous one was too frightening to contemplate. Oh, Doug! Doug! She cried his name to herself as if she were praying, and perhaps she was.

  The door opened and a hard shove sent her reeling inside. She landed on the carpeted surface, near where it was already spotted with blood stains. They were still damp and sticky.

  * * *

  Amelia looked worse than when he last saw her, Doug thought. IV bottles were hooked to both arms and her head had been partially shaved to expose a deep gash running from her forehead back past her hairline. The swelling had increased and purpled, like a discolored volcano dome rising under pressure from below. He knew she could barely see to recognize him through eyelids so puffed that they allowed only slits of light, but she was conscious and alert, no longer in shock. She gripped his hand and squeezed feebly. He felt tears leak from his eyes at the sight of her mangled face. He could only imagine what damage had occurred to the rest of her body, and didn’t want to think about the degradation she must have suffered, nor what it might have done to her mind.