The White Death

by Rafferty, Daniel

  “After the White House meeting,” he said, trying to remember any little detail or hint she might have given. “She came back here, we discussed the Council meeting, and then she left.”

  Marina flipped an e-pad around to read it, and her face fell.

  “Europe?” he asked.

  “No, the Middle East,” she replied. “Six more nuclear explosions detected in that region. We’re going to destroy this planet.”

  Everyone contemplated the stark reality that Marina had just reminded them of. Time was running out, and Christopher had few options available to present to the government now.

  “I think we might need to accept help is not coming,” said Ursula.

  “I’m with her,” said Marina.

  “No vaccine, you mean?” said Christopher. “Peter?”

  “I wouldn’t like to think the council would abandon us,” said Peter. “But I don’t have a vaccine for you, and I’m not even close to one. That’s why I need to get to China.”

  “And lose you, too?” said Christopher. He didn’t want to authorize a suicide mission. Freda always made such decisions look easy, a clear weighing up of the needs of the many versus the few. It just wasn’t that easy for him, and maybe she just made it look easy for their benefit.

  “China?” asked Marina.

  “Ursula believes she may have found a carrier of the virus,” said Christopher.

  “If we have, then it could drastically speed up our progress in creating a vaccine,” said Peter.

  “Tenfold maybe,” agreed Ursula. “We need that authority to go.”

  Christopher looked between the three of them, his colleagues and friends. Things were easier in the Army.

  “Marina?”

  “Send him,” said Marina without a moment’s thought. “He needs to go. I’ll take him myself. Peter, get your bags packed. Go on.”

  “Hold on a minute,” said Christopher. “Marina, I need you here with me. Some of the leadership needs to stay, or the staff will start to panic.”

  “Good point,” she said. “Peter, you’ll have to go on your own, but I promise you this—if you need rescue, I’ll be there.”

  Christopher knew she would go in a heartbeat. Marina had always been the type of character to take on any challenge. She’d tried her best to get to Britain to help with the Brest evacuation. Obviously he had refused, but he imagined her on the tip of an aircraft carrier, leading the way to rescue.

  “Peter, how soon can you be ready to go?” he asked. If they were on their own now, then they needed to create their own vaccine.

  “Now,” said Peter. “I’ve already requested a jet, and it landed ten minutes ago.”

  “Are you sure this is a carrier?” said Marina.

  “Not 100 percent,” said Ursula, “but we have reviewed every word of Captain Rodgers’ report. If we can locate the female and she is a carrier, then I can present you with possibility of a vaccine.”

  “And without the carrier?” asked Christopher.

  “Months,” said Ursula. “Maybe years. Maybe never.”

  “It’s a long shot,” said Marina. “But we can’t rely on the Council anymore, and Freda is missing in action. The vaccine is our only priority now, Christopher, or we’ll all end up infected.”

  “We’ll get ready immediately,” said Ursula.

  “Before you leave,” said Christopher, “I need something to offer the president. Something we can do now to try and reduce the risk to the country until we develop our own vaccine.”

  “Kill as many infected as the military can,” said Ursula.

  “Just kill everything?” said Christopher. “Is a cure out of the question?”

  “Yes,” said Ursula. He could tell her patience was wearing thin on that subject.

  “How much of the virus could we eradicate by bombing?”

  “If done methodically, maybe ninety percent virus removal from the planet. Dense jungles, large fortified buildings—these are all places that could safely harbor infected animals.”

  “But we could definitely reduce the chance of infection?” said Christopher.

  Ursula didn’t look too convinced. “It will help, but total extermination of the virus would take years of conventional bombing.”

  “World’s going to hell anyway,” replied Peter. “I need to do this. The number of deaths that are now on me, because of me. I’m going to China.”

  Christopher ignored him.

  “Report complete. Freda’s neural tracking chip has been disabled,” said CIM.

  “What?” said Christopher, the computer catching him off guard.

  “Scan complete. Freda cannot be located. Her tracking chip has been deactivated,” said CIM.

  “Deactivated?” said Christopher. He felt faint. “She must not be coming back…”

  “How can you be sure?” asked Ursula. “I mean, it hasn’t been that long. They don’t let you report humans as missing in this short of a time.”

  “Her tracking chip is embedded into her brain,” he explained. “It would only be deactivated on purpose.

  “Freda would never abandon us,” said Marina adamantly. “Maybe she didn’t have a choice.”

  Christopher pondered her statement. “Do we have enough sarin?”

  “One hundred percent of the bio-chambers are online and running at full capacity,” said Ursula, not needing to read the details of the report folder. “Bombing runs over Europe proved mildly successful. If we widen our targeting area, we push the virus back, and yes, millions will die.”

  “They’re dead already,” said Marina. “I might as well be the one to say it. They’re dead. We need to look after the living right now.”

  “But do we have the sarin capacity for such large-scale bombing?” said Christopher.

  “We do, and it’s better than nuclear bombs,” said Ursula.

  “And we can produce it in large quantities,” added Peter.

  “The government will want to move quickly on this,” said Christopher. He was dreading telling Richards that Freda had gone AWOL and that a vaccine from the Council was unlikely. “Europe will be our first target.”

  He turned up the volume for a live news report. Countries across South America were struggling to maintain order as people rose up to demand answers. Martial law had been declared in more than twenty U.S. cities, with New York teetering on the edge of collapse.

  “Which one goes?” asked Christopher, looking between both scientists.

  “Me,” said Peter instantly.

  “No,” said Ursula. “I’m the virologist here, not you. It’s me who has to go.”

  “I’m not sending both. We can’t afford to lose the two of you,” said Christopher.

  “I’m going,” said Ursula. “Sorry, Peter, but I’m the best change we have out there.” She stared at Peter, daring him to counter-argue.

  “Ursula, go,” said Christopher. “And good hunting.”

  “To us all.”

  ***

  Corridor ceiling lights glowed red, on and off, highlighting that Section 51 was in lockdown mode. It reminded Ursula of being on a submarine during battle, only with much more room.

  “Wow,” she said as three robots sped past her.

  “Been requested by the labs,” said Marina as they quickened their pace.

  “Robots?” said Ursula. They looked like metal humanoids.

  “Aye,” said Marina as they entered the lift. “Equipment room.”

  “How many?” asked Ursula.

  “We have thirty of them, but usually only half are in operation at any time. Now, all of them are. They help us maintain the facility, participate in research experiments, planning, and estimations.”

  “Helpful,” said Ursula.
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br />   “They are,” agreed Marina, “Until the little creatures break down. Then I’ve got the gloves on, and I’m elbow-deep in them getting the problem fixed. I found a fork once, ya know, and we never did find out how it ended up in there.”

  Ursula laughed as Marina retold the story, finding her facial expressions and mischievous eyes hilarious.

  “I meant what I said,” said Marina as they stepped out of the elevator. “If you get trapped in China, I’ll be there.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Ursula. A vivid picture of Marina paratrooping onto a rooftop, surrounded by robots, sprang into her mind.

  “Let’s hope,” said Marina. “But I operate by a simple rule—leave no one behind, especially the women.”

  Ursula laughed.

  “We are running out of time, though,” she said, almost breaking into a run herself as they reached the equipment room. Her large ball of permed hair bounced along with her.

  “Welcome to my lair.” They entered a glistening black-colored equipment room, bristling with all kinds of technology and combat gear. White lights slowly came to full brightness in each corner, and Ursula thought she had entered some kind of superhero’s dream room.

  “CIM, darling.”

  “Hello, Marina,” said CIM.

  “CIM, prepare for category-one away mission,” said Marina. She guided Ursula onto a circular pad, nearly flush with the black floor tiles. It glowed red.

  “What’s going on?” said Ursula. She felt a bit nervous but tried to hide it. She hated feeling out of her depth.

  “Stay still,” said Marina. “CIM, work your magic!”

  “Preparation for level-one away mission in progress,” said CIM.

  Ursula waited, giddy excitement giving her that butterfly feeling in her stomach. Little white lights, over 100 of them, appeared from the pad she stood on. They swarmed around her, like leaves in the wind, and she felt and saw their incredible work.

  “Fantastic, isn’t she?” said Marina. Ursula knew she was referring to CIM. It was magnificent. A full skin-tight armored body suit formed over her, like a cat-suit. Right up to her neck, the little white lights left nothing unprotected as they created the armor. Boots formed, as did armored gloves.

  “That is incredible,” said Ursula. She stepped off the pad. “Everything feels so flexible and soft, like rubber.”

  “But hard as diamond,” said Marina. “Here.” She handed the professor a utility belt, with weapons and gadgets.

  “Not what I’m used to,” said Ursula. She felt so safe and tight in the body armor. “I thought Section 51 was a research organization.” There were more weapons and armor in here than at an army barracks.

  “We are,” said Marina. She checked the bodysuit, making sure everything was sealed in. “But sometimes you need to fight to keep the peace.”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” said Ursula. She knew freedom of speech and free will only existed because millions had been prepared to fight for it. “This suit doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

  “At least you’ve stayed trim,” said Marina, cackling. “These are state of the art suits, designed to regulate breathing, temperature, and reflexes. The ultimate expedition gear, and where you’re going, you’ll need every trick I can give you.”

  “Thanks… I think,” said Ursula.

  “This,” said Marina, handing her a tidy little black briefcase, “is your walking, talking, dancing, and swinging laptop.”

  “My what?” said Ursula.

  “It contains a full biological testing kit and specialized e-pad with independent Internet connection system,” said Marina. “You’ll never lose signal with this.”

  “Never?” said Ursula.

  “Well, unless one of our satellites is shot out of orbit,” said Marina. “But if things are that bad, I’ll be coming to get you myself!”

  Ursula could tell Marina considered this her domain. Everything about the room and the equipment seemed to match her personality as Section 51’s operations manager.

  “Impressive,” replied Ursula. “Obviously we don’t have anything like this available in Britain.”

  “Neither does the U.S. government,” said Marina with a smirk. “We at Section 51 prefer to keep our unique technology separate from the workings of government.” Marina sat down on one of the long black leather benches in the equipment room, as Ursula psyched herself up.

  “I imagine that’s a rather prudent course of action,” said Ursula. That was her ready to go.

  “Oh, I agree,” said Marina. “The less government knows the better, in most situations. Freda prefers humanity to technologically advance on its own. It’s been a long time since I fit into a skin-tight suit. Struggling to breathe?” Marina was in her sixties now, and rather rounded after four decades of working for Section 51. Long hours and living in-house had done little for healthy eating.

  “Just a bit,” laughed Ursula.

  “I asked Freda once why we couldn’t design a wonder drug for obesity,” said Marina.

  “What did she say?” asked Ursula, curious.

  “That the human biological system wasn’t the problem, but rather what we ate,” laughed Marina. “My vice—cake and tea. Lots of it, particularly the cake.”

  “Sounds about right,” she agreed. “The problem with society for the past hundred years is that people don’t act—they wait for a cure or new breakthrough to happen.” Ursula stepped in front of a mirror. “Rather interesting design.”

  “It is,” agreed Marina. “There is a panic button as well.”

  “Panic button?”

  Marin pointed to a small button under a flap on the right arm of the suit.

  “When you press that, it will emit a deafening pulse,” said Marina. “Stuns most within twenty meters.”

  Marina’s pager bleeped.

  “Your jet is waiting,” said Marina. “It’s time to go.”

  Ursula nodded and took a deep breath—time to get this show on the road. She had dived into warzones before, but this was different.

  “Wait,” said Marina. “One last thing.”

  She went to a black cupboard, unlocking it with an old-fashioned key. Inside—a row of perfectly maintained long black military coats, designed for women. She lifted one out, removing the red hanger.

  “Here.”

  She slipped it on Ursula, and it was a perfect fit.

  “Nice touch,” said Ursula. She always felt strange when not in a white lab coat, so this helped.

  “Shall we go?”

  “Yes,” said Marina.

  They left the equipment room, Marina leading the way.

  “I wanted to use the big girl, but Christopher’s unsure how she’d perform. You’ll fly to Japan, and from there, to Beijing.”

  “Who’s the big girl?” said Ursula, curious.

  A robot caught up with them, black and silver in appearance, offering coffee.

  They both took a cup, heading up to ground level; it was super strong and extra sweet.

  “Oh, let’s not bother with her now,” said Marina, winking.

  The elevator took them straight up to ground level, and now they stood facing a set of locked thick steel doors.

  “You ready for this?” said Marina.

  “I am,” said Ursula, clenching her fists. “Open the doors.”

  “John, open them up,” said Marina to the one they affectionately called the “gatekeeper.”

  The doors slid open, and the stiflingly hot desert heat hit them without mercy. Section 51 was so temperate with wet moistened air.

  “My dear,” said Marina, putting on sunglasses, “good luck.”

  “Thank you,” said Ursula. While Marina went back down to Section 51, Ursula kn
ew it was time to bite the bullet and begin the mission. Running to the jet, she was helped up the stairs by two burly members of the SWAT team assigned for her protection.

  “Commander Nelson?” said Ursula to the strong-looking soldier. In typical military fashion, the soldier didn’t reply, instead pointing toward the younger one with neat black stubble walking towards her.

  “Professor Barrington,” said Commander Johnathon Nelson.

  “Commander,” said Ursula. She chastised herself for automatically assuming the older one in the group was the leader. Nelson’s sharp square jaw accentuated the occasional deep scar. She knew this body had seen its fair share of abuse.

  “Have a seat,” said Nelson.

  “Commander, what’s the status of Japan?” She was glad to find a large conference table onboard and quickly took a seat with her folders opened. The rest of the SWAT team joined them.

  “Preparing to engage supersonic engines,” said the pilot.

  “Japan? Status?” said Ursula again.

  “Our intelligence shows that the country is stable,” said Nelson. “They’ve been shooting down planes and blowing up boats since China collapsed. We’ve even detected some bombing along the coast of China closest to Japan.”

  “Only sensible,” said Ursula. She continued to scan her notes, reading the more detailed reports available to both her and the commander. “Possible infection chances?”

  “Certain,” said Nelson. “We just don’t know when. Hours, days, or weeks.”

  “It could happen in the next second,” said Ursula. “That’s why we must move quickly and without hindrance, Commander.”

  “We’ll get you there, Professor.”

  “Can I ask,” she said, taking her glasses off and looking around at the team, “why you all volunteered for this assignment? My report says you demanded to undertake it.”

  The plane began a sharp momentary ascent before regaining level.

  “We prefer the difficult ones,” said Nelson. “We’re only considered the best of the best because we can do the difficult ones. The second we stop doing them, we’re no longer the best.”