The White Death

by Rafferty, Daniel

  “Well?” they asked together, turning around.

  “Complete devastation.” Peter’s words were heavy, and Ursula could feel her face fall. She had hoped for some kind of miracle, no matter how foolish it was. The moment infection occurred in a population, the battle was over.

  “What about the country?”

  “The White House is in emergency mode. I don’t think any option is off the table now,” he said.

  Barrington and Nelson looked at each other; they knew what that meant.

  “Same effects as in other cities?” she asked.

  “The same primal carnage as shown everywhere else,” said Peter. “Mindless animals, all at once and so abruptly. The government is preparing to enact full quarantine protocols.”

  “The government will need to take swift action if there is to be any hope of containing this.” She had returned to work again, running a computer simulation projecting how the body responded to a weakened version of layer two.

  “Well, we three know there are certain … protocols … in government vaults for dealing with situations like this.”

  “Oh, I know that,” said Ursula, agreeing with her colleague. She had written some for the British government, and they were one of the few documents the government only kept paper copies of, for fear of cyber espionage.

  “Nothing would surprise me with government,” said Nelson.

  Ursula listened, knowing the three of them had all operated at the upper echelons of government, and would find it hard to be surprised by anything.

  “Quiet,” shouted Nelson.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Barrington, getting off her chair. The lights began to flicker.

  “What’s going on?” asked Peter.

  “Oh, hell,” said Barrington. She grabbed onto a desk for support as the ground began to rumble and shake. They felt a deep explosion in the distance. Some of the thick white floor tiles below them cracked.

  “This bunker is reinforced,” said Nelson. “Or we’d be dead already.”

  “Lovely,” she replied.

  He got down on his hands and knees, feeling the vibrations continue.

  “A good few miles away, but very powerful. I’d say if it wasn’t a bomb, then a power plant explosion.”

  “I’m pulling up our scanners for the region,” said Peter. Taking control of the closest satellite the U.S. government had in the region, he directed it toward Beijing.

  “Commander, you’re right. Looks like a power planet explosion—their nuclear one, actually.”

  “I thought we were going to be shutting down power plants,” said Ursula.

  “We’re planning to,” said Peter. “Specialist teams are being prepped, but every time they prepare to launch, something else comes up.”

  “Stretched to capacity,” said Ursula. “I know that feeling. Try and prioritize Beijing.”

  “Do you hear that?” asked Nelson.

  Ursula turned to look at the able commander, his keen ears and eyes on full alert as he headed out into the corridor.

  “Commander?”

  “Stay here,” he whispered. She watched as he withdrew his pistol, ready to fire.

  “Ursula?” said Peter.

  She didn’t reply to him, instead watching Nelson walk softly down the corridor toward the destroyed elevator shaft. It was full of tangled metal and concrete, the doors barely keeping the debris contained.

  Nelson leaned in, placing his ear on the elevator door.

  “Fuck,” he said, jumping back.

  “Commander,” shouted Ursula.

  “Infected in the elevator shaft.”

  “Oh, Christ. The explosion must have sent them into a panic, and some fell down the shaft.” He fired.

  He shot her a grave look, and she knew right away.

  “Get back from that elevator!” She sealed her own laboratory door, leaving Nelson in the corridor alone.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Those elevator doors are damaged and not sealed. Infection molecules could have gotten through. You might be infected.” She watched him carefully, looking for any signs.

  “What should I do?” he asked, a rare look of fright on his face.

  “Seal yourself in one of the labs.” Barrington was glad all the rooms in this floor had clear glass walls so she could monitor him. Flying to her computer desk, she released stimulant 43B into the atmosphere, praying it would buy him some time.

  “What’s going on?” asked Peter.

  “Nelson may be infected.”

  “Have you secured him?”

  “He’s secured himself in an airtight room, and I’ve given him a shot to boost his immune system.” She tried to keep her cool and not let her body trick itself into feeling any kind of weird symptoms. The doors to her lab had been shut in time. She knew that.

  “Put on your earpiece,” ordered Peter.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “Ursula, if he becomes infected … you will have to kill him.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” she barked. “I’m here, not you. Concentrate on finding out what kind of virus that is for me.”

  “Ursula, I’m serious.” Peter was worried for her safety. “Are you armed?”

  “Yes.” She placed a hand on the pistol attached to her right leg, reassuring herself. “But if I shoot the glass with bullets, I become infected, as well.”

  “Damn.”

  “Helpful, Peter. Nelson’s a proud man. He won’t let himself succumb to that existence.”

  “You think so?” said Peter.

  “Doctor,” said Nelson over the intercom. “I feel strange.”

  “Take slow, deep breaths,” she ordered. “Remember, if you are infected, there is an internal battle taking place inside your body. I’ve released a stimulant into the air, and it should help give your immune system a significant boost in fighting the virus.”

  “If I feel myself going, you know what I’m going to do.”

  “I know.” Ursula kept watching. She knew the virus would already have penetrated his body’s defenses, which would now be overwhelmed and confused. Nelson kept a firm grip on his gun, ready to pummel a few hard slugs.

  “Doctor, you need to find that vaccine.”

  Ursula stared back at him from across the room. She got back to work.

  Chapter 51

  The coffee was hot, the sandwiches were fresh, and a stream of aides replaced both quickly. Inside PEOC, the Presidential Emergency Operations Center, buried below the East Wing of the White House, a document was being presented to the president that was so sensitive, it had been escorted by four military agents from the Pentagon. Thomas never liked the PEOC, and when he was first shown it, hoped never to be in it. Designed to withstand everything but a direct nuclear attack, it was a fortress underneath the symbol of democracy for the free world. Now, Thomas knew he faced a decision no president before him had ever had to even contemplate.

  “The President of the United States,” said a White House staff member as Thomas arrived, flanked by Gail and his chief Secret Service agent. The doors were sealed shut behind them, and Thomas took his seat, at the head of the long metal table. The lighting was harsh, very laboratory-like.

  “General, if you’d begin.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.” Richards opened his briefing folder, then took a sip of water. “We have confirmed that New York has become the latest city on Earth to be infected by what we’re calling the Eugenics Virus. Only remnants remain of government services within the city, including the NYPD, fire and rescue department, and all general hospitals. Our analysts predict citywide infection within one hour as of the writing of this report, seventeen minutes ago.” The red countdown timer across the room updated to includ
e this new period.

  “We can all agree that was succinct,” said Thomas. “Now, this is not the time to argue and debate over how this happened. That’s for later. We, now, as the government, must decide how to deal with the most dangerous threat the United States as ever faced on home soil. I have asked General Richards and the Pentagon to provide us with emergency plans created to deal with such issues. Unfortunately, there is only one available. No other scenario the Pentagon has planned for allows us to effectively deal with a deadly viral outbreak in an American city such as the Eugenics Virus. Every single life in this country is now at risk. That’s over 350 million people.”

  “With the size of New York, we can’t hope to contain the problem using conventional means,” said Richards as department secretaries sat in silence. While Richards spoke and went on to give detailed projections of virus spread and impact across the country, Thomas took time to study the face of each member of his cabinet. They were all new, and most had not been given time to become accustomed to their new departments. Knowing the reputation—but, more importantly, the survivability—of the government rested on them presenting a united front free from partisanship, he closely scrutinized their facial expressions as Richards continued. He needed to know who he could rely on in the coming days.

  “You want us to unleash sarin on our own people?” asked the Secretary of State.

  “No, that is not what the general is proposing.”

  “Then what?” asked Kramer.

  Thomas looked to her, then Richards. The general pressed the intercom button and instructed the four agents to be granted access to the PEOC.

  “The Pentagon’s proposal,” began Thomas, “is what I also propose. There is only one copy of this plan, and it is only available on hard copy. The document itself is over 200 pages long and not practical for us to analyze in detail before making a decision. We are against the clock here, quite literally.” Thomas looked to the red countdown timer on the far wall. “General, if you would give us a brief summary.”

  “Protocol 41X is a last resort protocol believed by the Pentagon, along with some of our best minds, to be the only failsafe we have against a deadly viral outbreak within the human population, in a metropolis area of the United States. The plan calls for the use of nuclear weapons on American soil.”

  “What?!” shouted Kilmoran. “A metropolis is hardly a confined area. New York has over nine million American citizens.”

  “And over 300 million live elsewhere within the United States,” replied Vanessa Kramer.

  “You can’t nuke New York.” Kilmoran’s laugh shook with nerves. “Really? Am I the only one who finds this preposterous?”

  “You’re not the only one who hates the idea,” said Kramer, “but I see the merit.”

  “Carry on,” said Thomas, deciding to ignore the outburst. Everyone else remained silent.

  “A modified B41 nuclear bomb is kept in storage. It can be dropped on New York within thirty minutes.”

  “I thought B41s were all dismantled,” said Desmond, Secretary of War. They were large and unstable for bomber planes to effectively handle.

  “We kept three in case of emergency,” answered Richards. “They are the most powerful nuclear bomb ever created by the United States with a destructive yield of seventy-five megatons. The bomb we dropped on Hiroshima only had sixteen kilotons for comparison. This will obliterate New York and eradicate any remnants of the disease.”

  Richards waited for questions. Thomas knew there would be none. Like any PEOC meeting, minutes were being taken by officials for historical record and congressional oversight. They were all now being very careful as to who said what.

  Finally, Thomas asked the only question he could think of. “Can anyone in this room present me with a viable alternative we can enact within thirty minutes?”

  Thomas waited, hoping.

  “Anyone?” he asked again, almost desperate.

  “What about Mayor Porter?” asked Desmond. He had rallied New York behind the president during the election.

  “We’ve had no contact from the mayor’s office since initial infection. All routes out of New York are being monitored, with roads and highways being destroyed. We’ve repositioned several of our key surveillance satellites to the region so we can track any stragglers, but so far confusion is keeping people in their homes.”

  That comment stopped Thomas’s train of thought entirely.

  “You mean they’re waiting for us,” replied the president. Frightened families sat in their homes, waiting for the government to come and save them.

  “Yes, Mr. President.” Richards wasn’t immune to the emotions being felt by everyone else. He could see the weight of this decision in the president’s eyes. But survival was the only objective.

  Silence.

  “Okay. With the nation in crisis, and as Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces, I am issuing an executive order for the nuclear bombing of New York in accordance with Protocol 41X. Please note the date and time for the record.”

  Chapter 52

  At an undisclosed airbase, Captain John Wedding and Lieutenant Aaron Kingsway were going through another pre-flight check. Their stealth bomber had seen more action in the past few days than in the last ten years combined. Even with the constant bombing runs over Korea and China, they had kept upbeat and tried to concentrate on the job. Wedding always joked that it was what “professionals” had to do. Now, however, neither felt like joking.

  “Flight checks?” said Wedding.

  “Completed.” Kingsway was being deliberately quiet, and Wedding couldn’t blame him. When General Richards himself contacts you, it is never for a polite catch-up.

  “Okay, Lieutenant. Let’s do this.” Wedding felt the engines vibrate. Quicker than he’d have liked, they were flying down the American East Coast escorted by eight fighter jets.

  “Wonder how they were able to remodel the B41?” asked Wedding. “I had a friend back in the nineties who was working on them. He even let me see one once. They were huge. We’d have had a hard time getting one of the originals on board, never mind launching it.”

  “On New York,” said Kingsway. “Launching it on New York.”

  “I know,” said Wedding. “New York lost electricity two hours ago, and the government hasn’t restored it. I’d say they’ve probably cut them from the national grid altogether.”

  “Did you hear they’ve also blocked mobile phone signals but are advising people to stay in their homes and wait for government intervention? I bet no one suspects it’s a fuckin’ nuclear bomb.”

  “Aaron,” he began, “let’s just get it done.”

  “Nine million Americans, John.”

  “Inform fighter jets to break off in four minutes.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Kingsway sent the encoded text message to the fighter jets, which began heading westwards. They didn’t have the necessary shielding and armor to be protected against such a powerful blast.

  “Ten minutes until target destination,” said Wedding.

  “Received,” said Richards.

  There was no going back now.

  Chapter 53

  “How did you feel?”

  Thomas stood before a picture of Harry Truman in an empty grand corridor of the White House. Truman was the first and only president, until now, to authorize the release of a nuclear bomb on a civilian population. The bombing of Japan in the Second World War devastated the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Even now, the decision was highly debated, with equal numbers agreeing and disagreeing with it. Truman died believing the decision had actually saved more lives than it cost. A land invasion of Japan was projected to cause over two million deaths compared to the 250,000 killed as a result of nuclear bombing. These thoughts and arguments fired through Thomas’s mind. He sat down on one
of the luxurious red and golden chairs facing the grand picture. Coffee wasn’t working any longer, and 200 leg presses didn’t do justice to how weak he felt.

  “Truman saved lives,” said Gail, who had just arrived.

  “American lives,” said Thomas, not looking up. “He never bombed his own people. I am now directly responsible for the death of millions of Americans. People who voted for me. Gail, can you imagine all those children who will never grow up?” He held his hands tightly, feeling forty years older than his actual age. He kept replaying the scene in his mind from just a few moments ago. Wedding and Richards had to repeatedly ask him for confirmation to launch.

  “I choose not to.”

  “Well, lucky you. I don’t have that luxury. I mean, what’s the point in all this?” said Thomas, standing up. He walked up to the portrait of Truman. “What was the meaning of all this?”

  “The virus?” asked Gail.

  “Yes,” said Thomas. “The virus. What did it accomplish? I don’t believe for one second this was a malfunction or an accident. This was a deliberate genocidal act by a race of beings who claim to be from a higher moral plane.”

  “We can’t seek to punish at the minute, Mr. President.”

  “I don’t even have a way of punishing,” he replied, “I don’t think nuclear weapons are going to do much against an alien starship. They are trying to exterminate us, and you know what the damnedest thing of all is?”

  “What?” said Gail.

  “They’ll probably succeed,” he said, looking down at his tie. “Gail, they will probably, by a wide margin, succeed.”

  She didn’t know how to reply to that, and he sat back down again, feeling tight and uncomfortable in his suit. “I wanted to do so much once I reached the White House. I wanted to be remembered as a president who did what he promised. Who made the country a better place.”

  The urge to scream almost took over him.

  “Mr. President,” said Gail. “I know it’s horrible in here right now. The decisions only you can make are earth-shattering, and many lesser men would shake in their boots, but let me tell you something.”