by Brian Parker
He cleared his throat, “Alright, I’m ready.” The military actually had replaced the audio/visual equipment in the office recently and the entire room dimmed noticeably as the president was illuminated by a light directly overhead. The light on the camera turned from green to red and the ancient sign on the far wall lit up indicating that the broadcast was now on the air.
“My fellow Americans, the nation grieves today at the immense loss that has been visited on us. At approximately 8:45 this morning, the United States was a victim of a callous and cowardly attack by the nation of France, our long-time ally and partner. I was informed by the French president, Mr. Gutmont, that he had taken matters into his own hands to stop the spread of the virus that was released at the Pentagon by launching a nuclear missile from a submarine cruising in the Atlantic Ocean.
“As I’m sure you are already aware, this missile detonated between five and ten miles to the east of Washington, D.C. We have been unable to assess the damage on the ground this early, but I’ve seen the aerial photographs and there is grievous damage to the area. The initial estimates are that four-to-five million of America’s innocent civilians have been murdered.
“The President of France will tell the world that he did this to stop the virus from reaching Europe. However, we had the situation under control and were close to a remedy for those infected. This was the act of a cruel man brought to power by another tragedy in the recent past, not one who was freely elected to his post by the peace-loving people of France.
“America will not stand by and allow this attack to go unpunished. We will ensure that those responsible for murder of our citizens are brought to justice. I urge the United Nations to authorize the arrest of the entire French government and the members of their military that are responsible for this act. God help the nation of France as they attempt to deal with the madmen in their country and wrestle with how to bring them to justice.
“We will rebuild the nation’s capital. America will not fail because of the acts of a small group of insane people. I will broadcast daily at this time to keep the nation informed of our progress. God bless America as we cope with this catastrophe. Good day.”
***
24 April, 1609 hrs local
Élysée Palace
Paris, France
“I told you that our gambit would pay off,” Jean-Pierre Gutmont said as he watched the television broadcast of the American president end. He looked over at his intelligence chief and continued, “The Americans have always been too afraid to do what is necessary. This disease could have been the end of mankind, but I stopped it. I may be demonized now, but history will remember what I did today as crucial and right…What is that noise Remy?” he walked to the window in time to see the Palais Bourbon across the River Seine in the 7 arrondissement explode into a gigantic fireball.
He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed the number to the Admiral of the Marine Nationale, the French Navy. “Admiral, this is Gutmont. The Americans have retaliated against us. I release authority for further nuclear launches to you. Attack multiple targets within the United States. Au revoir vieil ami.” President Gutmont heard the engines of the American B-2 bomber, but he never knew what happened as America’s wrath came down upon him.
In the coastal city of Cherbourg, Admiral Aubrac received a second phone call informing him that Élysée Palace and the Palais Bourbon were destroyed in an apparent air raid, all inside were assumed dead. He breathed a sigh of relief and shredded the hand-written order to his Executive Officer concerning the president’s instructions and the launch codes for the remaining missiles. Then he signed the letter to his wife and placed his wedding ring on top of the fleet stationery.
He calmly cocked the hammer on his PAMAS G1[16] and placed the barrel and slide assembly in his mouth. He carefully tilted the weapon until he knew the round would penetrate his palate and enter his brain. Around the barrel he mumbled the Hail Mary, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger.
FIRST INTERLUDE
24 April, 0817 hrs local
Karakoram Mountain Range
Afghanistan-Pakistan Border
Malik al-Nusurim wiped the sweat from his face and reached into the bowl of water set beside the entrance to the cave. He carefully washed away the grime from his two-hour hike from his cave to this one. Even in the early morning, it was already a strange mix of bitter cold and oppressive humidity in the mountains. Once he was sure he was presentable, he replaced the satchel that he’d brought with him back on his shoulder. He checked the contents one more time and stepped into the darkness.
After several steps along the well-worn floor he was halted by a guard who searched him for hidden weapons. Even though he was known to these men, they were diligent to their duty of protecting the elite members of the Brotherhood. When they were satisfied that he posed no threat he was led by the hand to the wall and told to wait while they uncovered the secret entrance to the Brotherhood’s lair.
The cavern that he was standing in was suddenly filled with torchlight as the doors opened. He walked forward and was greeted by the many women and young boys lounging on cushions within the first chamber. Every skin color was represented for the various desires of the Masters and they were casually smoking hashish from hookah pipes, obviously not concerned with the jihad that they were a part of. He passed through the room into a hallway carved in the rock of the mountains. It wasn’t as brightly lit as the first room, but the light was sufficient for him to see several more hallways intersecting with this one.
The hallway opened to another small chamber that held several guards. He told the commander of the guard that he had an urgent report to issue to the Brotherhood. The guard disappeared behind a rug hanging from the wall. al-Nusurim clasped his hands behind his back and waited until he was told to enter by the guard who returned from behind the tapestry.
When he was allowed to enter, he marveled at the size of the cavern used for meetings and business. It was truly amazing that this chamber was created hundreds of years ago and had been in use by the Brotherhood since the British expansion into the region during the nineteenth century. The room was easily bigger than the classroom where he’d taken computer science at Berkeley. There were multiple tapestries on the walls here too and he believed they led to the private chambers of the Brotherhood members, but he would probably never know.
“Ah, Malik. As-salaam aleikum,” the man sitting in the center of the chamber said to him.
“Wa aleikumm e-salaam Master,” he replied in kind.
“What is this we hear of a report? You have news of our enemies? Sit, and tell us what you know,” the Master said as he gestured to a cushion across from him. He and four other men occupied similar pillows around a low table set with a carafe of cinnamon anise tea and a pot of qishr[17] with demitasse cups for serving.
He pulled several printed pages from his satchel and sat on the indicated cushion. He adjusted his legs so that he was balanced perfectly and then said, “Masters, I have most wondrous news for you. It is a great day for the Brotherhood! The situation at the American Pentagon overwhelmed the infidels and the creatures escaped.”
“This is great news Malik, we must celebrate!” the man who had previously spoken to him said as he clapped for a servant’s attention.
“But Master, there is so much more.”
“Go on then,” the Master with the Yemenite accent said as he gestured with his hands to indicate that Malik should continue.
“Yes Master. When the new French president, the man who replaced the one the Brotherhood assassinated, found out about the creatures’ escape, he ordered a nuclear attack on Washington, D.C.,” he paused for effect as the five men stared at him. “Masters, the American capital is no more! A nuclear bomb detonated just outside the cit
y a little over three hours ago. Look, I have satellite pictures of the city after the bomb.” He thrust the papers he’d been clutching forward for their examination.
The senior member of the Brotherhood grabbed them and passed the photos around one-by-one as he completed looking at them. After many long moments of silence, the Yemenite asked, “You are sure of this Al-Nusurim? This is not some American trick?”
“I have seen the American president give a speech to his nation. He announced that Washington, D.C. was destroyed. He even made a request that the United Nations arrest the Frenchman.” He waited until the laughter died down, “He is unwilling to use nuclear weapons of his own, as you’ve always said he was Master.”
“Of course I am right. The infidels do not possess the capability to do what is necessary to defend themselves. They rely on empty threats with no action. The world will rise against their imperialist expansions now that the truth about their cowardice is known!”
The senior master chopped his hand across the air, “Yes, we will be victorious. Malik, I need you to send a message to the doctor, it is time he made another appearance on the television. Ensure the speech he reads criticizes the Americans for allowing the creatures to escape and praises the French for their heroic acts to save humanity.”
“Yes Master, it will be done.”
NINE
25 April, 1712 hrs local
Military Decontamination and Infection Control Site #3
Near Culpepper, Virginia
Her skin felt like it was on fire. She could feel rough hands holding her down and some type of cold abrasive liquid being scrubbed all over her naked body with a brush or rough towel. Each time one of the hands scoured her with the instrument it felt like her skin was being sliced down to the muscle and she screamed uncontrollably.
Finally, they were done and the hands that held her down released her. A cool spring breeze blew across her unprotected body, temporarily easing the pain. She opened her eyes and saw six people huddled near her wearing large contamination suits. They conferred with each other, but their words wear unintelligible to her. They seemed to reach an agreement and once more four of them held her down and the other two began to scrub her skin again with long-handled brushes.
She screamed anew and her voice grew hoarse as she begged them to stop. She pleaded with them and offered everything she had to give, including herself, in an effort to get them to cease the painful scrubbing with the brushes and just leave her alone. The people in the protective suits ignored her pleas and it seemed to her that they scrubbed even harder, trying to expunge the shame and filth that she’d just subjected them to. The pain of the bristles tearing into her skin became unbearable and she wished to die, but then her mind clung to one fleeting thought that strove to the surface between the waves of pain and her self-loathing.
She grasped at that random, fleeting thought and then her mind began to unravel from the tortured place that it had retreated to. Suddenly, regardless of the physical hurt she was being subjected to, her thoughts coalesced into one clear truth: If she wished to die, then that meant that she was still alive!
Emory Perry smiled weakly and passed out.
***
26 April, 1824 hrs local
Eastbound on Interstate 70
Seelyville, Indiana
Grayson had pushed his rental car long enough, he needed to stop for gas or he’d end up walking. Besides, he had to stop and get the car parked somewhere before the curfew began again in a few minutes. Since getting a new rental car and leaving Lawton a few days ago, he’d basically been on the run. He learned through spotty, intermittent radio reception that the D.C. area was a nuclear wasteland and that there was total chaos all over the country. It was amazing how quickly society could dwindle when the everyday checks and balances were in place went away. Now, with the missile attack on Washington and the militias fighting the military and police, simple things like food and electricity were already becoming pretty scarce.
Regular people were afraid to leave their homes, so that meant the stores were closed, which led to looting and murder for food at first, then for survival items. The emergency services were quickly overloaded with calls for help from citizens during those first several days. Workers didn’t report to their jobs at the power plants, instead they chose to stay and keep their families safe since the police were busy responding to even more robberies, deaths and accidents, which meant that the electricity failed after only 48 hours. With no power to support them, the cellular and telephone networks collapsed and people were no longer able to call for help. The combined loss of power and ability to communicate with one another only heightened the hysteria that was already rampant across the country. The president was forced to institute a nationwide 7 p.m. curfew in order to help the police deal with the problems they were facing. It wasn’t quite total anarchy, but it was dangerously close.
Within twenty miles of Lawton, the highway became blocked by destroyed vehicles and barricades placed by both the militia and the advancing military, so he’d been forced to take the back roads to OKC, which was hell on his broken ribs. By the time he reached the city it was clear that things there were in total chaos. Most of the windows in the Bricktown district had been broken or shot out and looters hid from the glow of his headlights. He drove by at least one major street fight between police officers and another armed group. He decided to pack it up and get out of the state all together.
He’d paid ridiculous prices for a couple of grocery bags full of random food items from a gas station and then he traveled up Interstate 44 to Missouri. He went into the police station in the first town he came to across the border. The police officer at the desk was polite, but told the stranger that they had plenty of their own problems and that he should be glad he was alive, but to keep moving. As if to emphasize the point, the radio behind him blared with the announcement that an officer had just captured several robbery suspects and was bringing them in. The officer shooed him away from the station and strapped a bulletproof vest on as he walked to the front door.
He’d tried a few more towns along the way but he’d gotten pretty much the same story everywhere he went. America’s social rejects, criminals and disillusioned were rising up and creating total chaos all across the country. Each radio station that was still on the air broadcast the message that good, law-abiding citizens respected the curfew that the federal government had put in place and to let the police and military handle the disorder. The president had also apparently authorized the use of the military to put down the uprisings and citizens were encouraged to remain indoors, especially after the curfew.
He’d continued down the highway towards D.C., deciding to visit the crisis center that was rumored to have been established in the small town of Front Royal, Virginia. The radio said that was where survivors and refugees were being taken after they had been decontaminated in one of the several small camps immediately outside of Washington. If there was any chance that Emory was alive, she would be in one of the refugee camps. He’d taken Interstate 70 from St. Louis and had been driving carefully east since then.
Up ahead, there was a gas station that looked like it might still be open so he slowed down and took the next exit. He pulled up to the pump and ran over a pneumatic air hose that set off a bell inside the station. He killed the engine and got out to begin pumping gas. An older man wearing a pair of mechanics overalls came out the front door of the building holding a shotgun. Grayson instinctively raised his hands over his head.
“Shit boy, I ain’t gonna rob ya. Just protectin’ my business. Cash only though, credit card machine is out,” the old man said as he lowered the muzzle of the shotgun towards the ground.
Grayson smiled foolishly and lowered his arms. “I don’t have any more cash on me but I’ve got a few things to trade that I’ve picked up along the way.”
“Well, the way things is goin’ money probly won’t be worth nuthin’ ‘fore too long, ain’t that the truth. Whatcha
got?”
Grayson walked back to the trunk and slowly opened it. He reached in and pulled out a leather jacket and held it up, “I was planning on using this if it got cold in the mountains out east, but I’d be willing to part with it. Just needs cleaning.” He thought of the poor guy he’d gotten the jacket from in Missouri. He saw him swinging from a tree along the side of the road he was driving on. He’d cut him down with the small pocket knife he’d packed in his checked luggage before the trip but he was already long dead. He’d taken everything he could from the man, including the jacket. He rationalized with himself that it wasn’t stealing, that in the current world he might need the clothes. Especially more than a dead body did.
“Alright, you got yourself a deal, hand it over.”
Grayson did as he was asked and returned to the car. He put the hose into the Chevy’s gas tank and squeezed the handle. Nothing happened. “Hey man, I gotta hurry to get home by the curfew,” he lied.
“Huh? Oh,” the old man looked up from trying on the jacket. He had one arm through a sleeve and was holding the shotgun with the other hand and looked ridiculous. He ducked back inside the station and flipped a switch. He gave the thumbs up sign through the window and set the gun down on the counter to finish putting on the jacket.
Grayson finished filling the tank and capped it off. The old man came out wearing the jacket and holding the shotgun again. “So where ya headed? You’re not from around here I don’t think. Least ways, not with them Oklahoma plates.”
“Yeah, I’m just headed back home to Maryland, haven’t been able to reach my parents on the phone, so I decided to drive out there.” He decided it was best not to tell the man his business, but he figured that by telling him roughly where he was going he would be able to keep his story straight. “They were a couple hundred miles from where the news says the blast was, so I hope they’re alright.”
