Z1N1: The Zombie Pandemic: 2012 Was Just the Beginning

by Mitchell Layne Cook

  “Yeah,” Craig answered as he logged into his computer, “I think they were getting all naked and stuff…”

  “Ewwww! Shut up!” Julie shrieked, covering her eyes – trying to block the horrid sight from her mind, but the damage was done. The rest of the day would be spent trying to get the image of a naked Karl Timmons out of her head.

  The rest of the week and month flew by. Spring came early to the West Coast and with her she brought fresh flowers and plenty of rain to the area. July ushered in the start of summer and a sweltering heat wave. Temperatures were well above one-hundred degrees for more than two weeks straight. Brown-outs were common during that stretch of time since the power company was ill-equipped to deal with the large demand for power; the area was not used to such temperatures and folks that had air conditioners cranked them on full blast for the duration of the oppressive hot spell.

  Julie and Craig both used their bonuses and took their vacations during July. Julie spent three weeks on a Mediterranean cruise with Alexander. Craig and Amanda spent two weeks with her parents in Maine, where it was at least fifteen degrees cooler than in Idaho.

  August 6, 2012: Monday, 8:15 AM – at the main elevator, third floor, Illumination Pharmaceuticals…

  Craig returned to the office a week earlier than Julie since he had accrued less vacation time than her. Julie was due back in the office today and Craig looked forward to his partner-in-crime returning. During her extended vacation, Theo covered her lab duties.

  Theodore Ellis was a decent man, but Craig didn’t know him very well, at least not outside the office. Theo was an exceptionally bright young man with a great future ahead of himself. He was short and stocky, maybe 5’ 9” with a beard and a shaved head. Craig never knew why Theo shaved off his afro, but more than likely, the bald spot on the back of his head had led to his “preventative” measure last spring.

  The only real problem Craig had with the younger man was that Theo was way too arrogant – he liked for people to know how smart he was. He would tell people often of his one-fifty plus IQ. Theo had a tendency to mention his own name in the same breath with that of Einstein and Da Vinci and would often tell of his Mensa application – which was denied due to “clerical issues.”

  Today, none of that mattered. Theo was back to his part of the building – doing whatever it was Theo did - and Julie was coming back to the lab. Craig wanted to get her a welcome “home” gift, but he was strapped for cash, so a gift from the snack machine would have to suffice.

  Craig stopped by the break room on the third floor since the machines on the fourth floor were out-of-order again. He fished out some loose change from his pocket. He purchased two sodas and two small bags of chips to share with his returning comrade. Craig left the break room and stood awkwardly at the elevator. With his hands now full, he had to use his elbow to press the UP elevator button. This was more difficult than he anticipated. As he made a third attempt, the elevator doors opened up.

  Five men in dark suits hastily exited the elevator. Craig moved aside quickly to avoid a collision - dropping his chips and sodas in the process. The men walked by offering no assistance and no apologies for the mess they caused. Craig bent down and picked up the snacks and watched the men go into Karl’s office at the opposite end of the hallway. Two of the men appeared to be from the same group of individuals that Karl had been having meetings with during the last few months of the previous year. Craig did not recognize the other three men. They reminded him of Secret Service agents.

  Craig entered the elevator and pressed the fourth floor button. The elevator reeked of cheap cologne, most likely from the recent occupants. The elevator announced its arrival and the doors opened after a musical chime sounded. Craig went to his office and sat down at his desk and began daydreaming about Karl getting chewed out. Obviously Craig had no idea what was going on in the office below, but he often thought about people yelling at Karl. It made his day go by faster.

  “What are you thinking about, handsome?” Julie asked with a puzzled look on her face. She had walked in and sat down without Craig even noticing her arrival.

  “Hi, Julie, how was the vacation?” He jumped up, happy like a puppy hearing its master pull up in the driveway after a long workday, and hugged his friend. “Welcome, back!”

  “Thanks! The vacation was fantastic!” She tightly reciprocated his hug.

  “That cruise liner was humongous!” she said after the embrace. “I thought I would get sea-sick but it never happened. I barely felt the boat move.” Julie had come back well-tanned, refreshed and as usual - a bit over-perfumed. “There was so much food. They had a mini-golf course and an Olympic-sized pool on the upper deck. It was like a floating city! How was your vacation? Did you get along with the in-laws?”

  “BAH!” Craig uttered. “Mandy’s parents hate me. I know they do. They want grandkids and well they blame me for the obvious lack thereof…I walked in on them one morning in the kitchen and I heard her dad say something along the lines of ‘that boy’s swimmers are all retarded from working around lab equipment all day’…I wanted to leave so badly, but I didn’t.”

  Julie laughed.

  Craig deftly changed the subject. “Julie, do you remember those ‘suits’ from last year – the ones that were having the closed-door meetings with Karl?”

  “Yes, vaguely.”

  “They’re back.”

  “Well,” said Julie, “I think they are IPPC officials. Maybe they’ve come to ensure that the vaccine is ready. They’ve invested millions of dollars in our company. They want to make sure we’ve got the goods.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense.”

  “Craig – is it Friday yet?” Julie joked, smiling, as she thought about being back on vacation. “Here we are again…another long week at our home away from home.”

  “Hey, these are for you.” Craig handed her a soda and chips. “I know it’s a bit early for a snack but you should probably wait a few minutes anyway. I don’t want that soda to explode all over your blouse.”

  Julie looked confused. “Did you shake them up?”

  “No, I was trying to get on the elevator and my hands were full and when the door opened, those men rushed out and I dropped the snacks trying to avoid a collision,” Craig said as he explained the strange yet brief encounter with the men.

  The two friends then began running their daily tests. Work had piled up for both of them during their vacations. Both hoped that the week would fly by. No one liked the first few days back in the office after a nice, long vacation. Taking a vacation, at times, didn’t seem worth it; often times on your return from an extended vacation – you’d most likely have to work longer hours just to get caught back up.

  August 6, 2012: Monday, 10:30 AM –Karl Timmons’ office, third floor, the tail end of a lengthy meeting with IPPC officials …

  Karl’s office was unnecessarily large, but most of the space was used very well. Plush beige carpet lined the floors. A large, maroon leather couch sat parallel to the south wall. A sturdy, handcrafted oak desk squatted in front of a large plate glass window on the east side of the building. Two leather chairs were on the opposite side of the desk. The non-windowed walls proudly displayed expensive reproductions of Picasso and Warhol. Karl often looked out his window to the busy street below, at what he liked to call “the little people,” but not this morning. Today, Karl was one of those little people. He was the one taking orders.

  Karl’s cavernous office felt entirely too small today; he felt smothered, barely able to breathe. Usually, he was the only one in his office; however, five additional men occupied his office today. Karl was the sixth man. Not like the basketball term, Karl was not the unseen teammate urging his team on to victory. Karl was not part of this team…he was more of an obstacle. At the start of the meeting, the three armed agents moved into position. One agent stayed inside the office while the other two exited the room and stood guard outside the closed office door.

  “So, Karl – do we u
nderstand each other?” the gentleman sitting in Karl’s chair asked.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Hastings – I am fully aware of who is in charge of this operation,” Karl replied as he sat in one of the leather chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

  Gaylord Hastings was the Chief Financial Officer of the IPPC. His financial backing in conjunction with his clout within the US government made him a formidable and persuasive business man. Karl Timmons was very rarely in awe of any man other than himself…however, sitting across from Mr. Hastings made Karl feel infinitesimally small.

  Donovan Bryant was the Vice President of the Deployment and Logistics Division for IPPC. He was responsible for the coordination and distribution of new vaccines to various areas of the globe that were in need of assistance. Donovan had been offered the job with the IPPC about thirteen months ago; he resigned from his former position as the Director of the World Health Organization to take up his new post.

  Karl had met with these two men on multiple occasions last year prior to winning the IPPC grant. Those previous meetings were nothing like the current meeting. Last year’s meetings involved the firm’s senior management, Karl and IPPC officials. Those meetings were cordial and professional.

  Now Karl was alone, isolated from the herd – two predators in Armani suits flanked him. Illumination Pharmaceuticals was now a subsidiary of the IPPC. Once the grant was accepted by his corporation’s senior officers, Karl Timmons managerial stature plummeted. He was no longer involved with any high-level decision making. He was responsible only for the laboratories in Idaho and New York.

  Karl spoke softly, for fear of angering his new bosses. “I am sorry to reiterate this, but I’m not sure I fully understand. I thought the vaccine would be equally distributed to those nations in need?” Karl was by no means a lawyer, but his initial understanding of the guidelines set forth in the IPPC charter clearly indicated that products under the control of the IPPC would be distributed on an as-needed basis.

  “I don’t think we understand each other, Karl,” Donovan said. “How would it look to the company if you lost the grant money?”

  “Um, I uh...” Karl fumbled for the words.

  Mr. Hastings interjected, “What Donovan is trying to say, in a less-than diplomatic way, is this - do you consider yourself a patriot? Do you love this country?”

  “Yeah…of course I do.” Karl felt as if he was being interrogated by the KGB. Why would they question his love for his country? Sweat dripped down the back of his neck. He reached back with the already damp handkerchief and wiped off the perspiration.

  “Of course you are, Karl” Mr. Hastings replied in a condescending tone. “What we are asking you to do is in the best interest of your country. You should be proud to be doing your part to protect the United States.”

  Donovan spoke again, “As I said at the onset of this meeting - you will store fifteen percent of the new vaccine in our warehouse in Florida. We don’t want anyone else at the headquarters back in Sweden to get too inquisitive. You’ll have to come up with a way to ‘massage’ the amounts of vaccine produced and ‘misplace’ shipping destination documentation.”

  “I’m not sure that is possible – there are very stringent guidelines in place…” Karl said.

  Donovan became visibly frustrated. “Gaylord, are you sure this guy can do the job? He’s asking way too many questions. Maybe someone else should handle this for us?”

  “No wait, I’m sorry. I think I can make this happen.” Karl said as he pictured himself jobless - no more opulent office furniture, no more fancy sports cars and no more three-thousand square foot home on the golf course.

  “You think?!” Donovan stood up, wagged his index finger from side-to-side in Karl’s face, talking down to Karl like a teacher scolding a misbehaving student.

  “Sit down, Donovan,” Mr. Hastings said in a low-pitched, monotone voice. “There is no need for threats – right, Karl? We do understand each other, right?”

  “Yes, sir – I’m crystal clear. I will make the necessary adjustments to store the fifteen percent in the warehouse – no one will know. All of it will be taken care of as soon as possible. You have my word on that.” Karl looked up for approval.

  “Very good, Karl,” Mr. Hastings replied. “You are keeping our country safe. Those ‘secret’ stockpiles will aid the United States should a shortage occur during a future crisis. We must protect ourselves. You agree with me, right?”

  “Yes, sir – I guess. What happens if there is a shortage and our official stockpiles cannot meet the needs of other charter members? What if those members find out that surplus vaccines were stored in our warehouses and not distributed to countries that needed it?” Karl asked.

  “Let us do the thinking, Karl,” Donovan said. “You be a good boy and just follow orders.”

  Karl nodded his head in defeated acknowledgement. He stared down at his shoes. This meeting was adjourned.

  Mr. Hastings nodded slightly in the direction of the agent. Karl had all but forgotten about the wraith-like armed man that was standing guard. Like a well-oiled machine, the muscular agent pivoted one-hundred eighty degrees and walked to the door.

  “We are coming out,” the guard instructed as he opened the door. The two agents outside the office nodded at their compatriot. Gaylord Hastings and Donovan Bryant followed behind the lead agent and the two other men flanked the IPPC executives as they walked to the elevator.

  Karl stood up and moved to the window trying to decipher what had just happened and what he had gotten himself into. As he looked out over the streets below, he formulated a plan and thought of the resources required to fulfill his boss’s orders. A few moments passed and a dark blue Chevy Tahoe exited from the building’s lower level at a high-rate of speed. A jet black limousine immediately followed the SUV and finally a dark maroon Ford Expedition tailed the first two vehicles. Karl knew he was way out of his league – not even a pawn in this high-stakes game.

  Chapter 5

  November 14, 2012: Wednesday, 1:08 PM – IPPC Emergency Call Center, Stockholm, Sweden …

  The International Pandemic Prevention Council consisted of five multiple level, steel and brick buildings located in mid-town Stockholm; the buildings were set up similar to a compass. The three-story main building, referred to as the “HUB,” sat at the center of the compass; its main function was the communication nerve center of the complex. The other four buildings were equidistant from the center; all were connected to the main building via one-hundred yard glass corridors. These walk ways to the North, South, East and West buildings (as they were called) were connected to the main building from exits on the second floor of the HUB.

  The North building functioned similarly to a mini-United Nations - all of the delegates that comprised the charter members of the IPPC worked and conducted business from this facility. The East building served as research and lab facility for the onsite scientists and doctors. The West building was the main storage facility – vaccines and other medicines were stored on all three floors. The South building housed the security division of the corporation and all of the employees of the firm.

  The Call Center on the second floor of the HUB, which measured approximately one-thousand square feet, had been quiet most of the morning. The main floor was dominated by three rows of four tables – each table had two chairs. All twenty-four charter countries had a dedicated call support team that manned each workstation in twelve-hour rotations. On top of each table stood two flat screen monitors and keyboards, used by the call staff to monitor and report disease activities around the world. The employees in this room were the first line of defense that nation’s health officials would contact in the event of an outbreak.

  Three phones rang within a one hour window. The Call Center operators would definitely earn their money today.

  “IPPC Call Center, this is Operator-Seventeen, go ahead please.”

  “Yes, this is Doctor Mikhail Goranski from Nukus, Uzbekistan in Russia.”
r />   “Go ahead, Doctor,” Operator-Seventeen replied.

  “We have a possible situation developing. Five of our local hospitals have reported treating at least three-hundred and thirty-two suspect cases within the last three days. Symptoms are similar to the H1N1 flu strain. I’m requesting Uzbekistan’s Health Status to be elevated to Orange Alert.”

  “Uzbekistan is now at Orange Alert status,” Operator-Seventeen replied as he entered relevant information into his computer. “We are now tracking the cases you referenced. Please keep us advised of any more activity. Operator-Seventeen, out.”

  Eighteen minutes after the Uzbekistan call…

  “IPPC Call Center, this is Operator-Nine, go ahead please.”

  “This is Melvin Dorchester from the New York State Department of Health.”

  “Go ahead, Mr. Dorchester,” Operator-Nine replied.

  “This is the first time that I’ve called one of these in, except for the times during our training sessions. I think we have an issue in up-state New York.”

  “Can you be more specific?” Operator-Nine inquired.

  “Yes, of course. One of our local college campuses has had to shut down due to illness. Over one-hundred students were complaining of flu-like symptoms and were sent home. Some students and teachers still tarry on campus.”

  “Are you requesting an upgrade to your state’s Health Status, sir?”

  “Yes, Yellow Alert,” Melvin said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Dorchester. Yellow Alert status has been activated. Please keep us apprised of any changes. Send additional information as the situation develops. Operator-Nine, out.”

  Thirty-two minutes after the Uzbekistan call…

  “IPPC Call Center, this is Operator-One, go ahead please.”

  “Hello, this is Colonel Benito Chavez of the Colombian National Defense located in San Juan de Pasto. Can you hear me?”