Medora Wars

by Wick Welker

  The squad shut up and took their seats.

  Douglas continued. “As you may or may not know, an outbreak of the virus that appears similar to Virulex has happened in Mexico City within the last few hours. We are receiving only preliminary reports at the moment, but the slow pace of information alone is already very telling about the extent of the outbreak. Only a few media resources there are even reporting, but we do know that an unidentified terrorist group has deliberately placed infected people in various locations within the city, in government buildings, sports stadiums, malls, and even on the highways. We’ve received reports of aircraft dropping bodies around the city as well.

  “Now the Mexican Army is doing their best to contain the infection within the city limits, but they need help… they need a lot of help, and it’s not just because they don’t have enough forces down there. They simply don’t have the technology that we have at our disposal. They don’t have a team of you—sixteen men and woman with over a year of training in special infectious operations.

  “I would hope this goes without saying, but we are triggering massive containment protocol with all specialized units being deployed now into every city that could potentially become infected, including heavy barrier protection along the Texas-Mexico border. Our unit here, along with a Stryker brigade combat team consisting of fifty Stryker vehicles and forty five hundred soldiers, are being sent to assist the Mexican Army to contain the infection right in Mexico City. The city is in the process of evacuation without full containment at the moment. You will all be equipped with your EMP-M9s and 57s, and our squad will be operating one shock tank that I will be leading.”

  “Only one shock tank?” Yen, a slender kid in his mid-twenties had yelled out.

  “Yen, shut up.”

  “Yes, sir!” he acknowledged with enthusiasm.

  “We’re only going in with our one squad here. We can’t operate more than one shock tank.”

  “Where are the rest of the special infectious ops?” Michaels now interrupted.

  “Dammit, would everyone just keep their mouths shut until I’m done? What is this, pre-school?” Douglas forced an impatient breath as sweat ran down his dark skin. “The rest of the SIOs are being deployed to Seoul, where outbreaks there have just recently been confirmed.” Douglas waited for another interruption, but the squad simply stared back in silence.

  “The situation in Mexico City is declining rapidly. Many parts of the city are essentially shut down, including the airport. Our task is to target a suspected terrorist outpost in the middle of the city and gather whatever intel we can. If you’re wondering, yes we will be parachuting in, since there is no safe place to land a plane that is near the city. We are taking a direct flight from here. Our shock tank is already en route by aircraft and should arrive before us.”

  The squad was silent as every face stared up at Douglas.

  “The name of the game is to capture or kill terrorists. We’re done here. Let’s move to the plane.”

  “Hey, Captain Douglas?” Michaels spoke up.

  “What is it Michaels?”

  “Were you going to show anything on the projector?”

  Douglas turned around and looked at the white light projecting on a screen. “Yeah, I was going to show you some cat videos, but ran out of time.” He looked back at Michaels. “I don’t know Michaels, someone else was using it, so just shut up. All right, I hope you’re all packed. We are moving out.”

  The unit got up and gathered their gear in silence as every one of them was thinking within themselves, trying to digest the information.

  Michaels turned to Dave, “This is not going to end well.”

  “What do you mean? I’m looking forward to seeing what we can actually do. Up until now, our entire unit has just been theoretical.”

  “Or we’ll just die… and you will die,” Michaels said, thinking about their last parachuting training exercise. “Have any trouble with parachutes lately?” She laughed.

  “We might die, but at least we’ll take a twenty five million dollar piece of equipment down with us.” Dave let out a shaky laugh walking past her. “I know my ass is going down in flames if I die.” He walked out toward the gate of the hanger, to the tarmac outside. The sun was lying low in the sky, hiding behind a wing of the plane as the unit approached from behind. The back end of the plane was opened with a large ramp extended to the tarmac. Several men loaded crates up and into the cargo bay.

  The rest of the squad filed in and shoved their bags into netted compartments in the cargo area, their boots stomping on the metal floor. They settled into their seats, which lined both sides of a narrow corridor leading up to the cockpit.

  Dave looked back, past the rows of knees seated next to him in the cargo area, and imagined leaping into the nothingness of the sky. A small seed of fear inched up his stomach, which he suppressed with a long breath. He brought two straps over his shoulder and locked them in.

  Michaels was seated directly across from him, staring forward and down. She kept her jaw clenched, with her face muscles showing through her cheeks, with lips puckered forward on her mouth.

  Jacobs, who sat next to Michaels, moved his jaw up and down on a piece of gum.

  A wave of hunger passed over Dave’s stomach when he realized he left the only food he had in his bag at the back of the plane.

  Wang, a square-faced man who talked from the side of his mouth, looked up at Dave. “Hey Tripps, why did an old guy like you sign up for all this?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone’s got to work,” Dave said.

  “There’s got to be more to it than that. You don’t just get into special operations because you need a job,” Jacobs said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

  “I don’t know, it’s like, have you had a real shitty job before?”

  “Of course, I worked at a mini-golf place for like five years. It sucked,” Wang said.

  “Right, I worked at a marketing firm in New York. I hated it.”

  “Probably paid a hell of a lot better than a mini golf place or whatever the military is going pay us in the end.”

  “True, but it was a shit life I had with that job. I wasn’t working for anything. It was just something I stumbled into doing, and I didn’t enjoy a day of it.”

  “So how is doing all this any different?”

  “I’m not sure. This is a shit job and everything. It’s not fun at all getting our asses kicked every day and not being able to talk to anyone for six months. There’s something behind all this, though. I don’t know, it’s nice being part of something,” Dave said, embarrassed.

  “You’re being super fuckin’ cheesy, but I agree,” Jacobs said.

  “In the marketing business I didn’t care about having a successful campaign. It just brought me money but nothing else. Doing this,” he waved his hand out, gesturing toward the cockpit, “this has purpose to it. What I do matters now.”

  “It doesn’t matter yet,” Michaels interrupted. “You married, Tripps?”

  “No. You’re not either.”

  “Not anymore.” She leaned back and looked at him, and then closed her eyes, ending the conversation.

  Looking up toward the cockpit, Dave saw the two pilots getting ready by making small adjustments on the flight control. He sat back in his seat and let out a long breath, wondering if he would be able to sleep at all. Suddenly, the plane shuddered with vibrations, with the sound of the propellers humming into the interior of plane. The entire aircraft lurched forward on the tarmac as the cockpit door closed, and they started to move. There were no overhead announcements of a friendly pilot or flight attendants to watch out if someone was using their cell phone. No one takes care of you here, he thought. You’re completely on your own and expected to save everyone else’s ass when they’re in trouble.

  Feeling alone, Dave closed his eyes and pushed the feeling aside, as his headache still swarmed in the front of his skull. He felt the plane lift from the ground as its landin
g gear tucked in, and the plane became airborne. The constant vibrations throughout the fuselage eased him into sleep.

  Chapter Six: Washington D.C.

  CIA directorChuck Mayberry blinked as sunlight filtered in through the trees behind his car and bounced off the side mirror of his 1967 Corvette. The car set silent along the woods as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel listening to The Flying Dutchman by Wagner. From his rear view mirror, he saw just the outside corner of his right eye, where several wrinkles extended toward his graying hairline. He squinted his eyes—exaggerating the crow’s feet—and making more wrinkles ripple on his forehead. He felt a sense of satisfaction whenever he thought about the once soft edges of his youthful face. His face had been transformed into the weathered surface of a man well into his sixties. It wasn’t until I had those wrinkles that I realized what I was even doing with my life, he thought.

  He still felt the small yet sharp pangs of regret over all the ridiculous things he had at once thought he could do to help his country. Right after being elected Mayor of Baltimore, he thought that his first move to reallocate funding to primary education would stop the cycle of poverty for the city’s youth. He was amazed that at one time he thought that putting funds where it mattered most would mean that they would never be diverted again. Six months later, the state senate withdrew the funding, and established a voucher system that was then defunded altogether after the senate scrambled to produce cash after the Fed decided to shrink Medicare funding. A snake eating its tail, he thought. One form of government screwing another branch that in turn shuts down a local program.

  He laughed with nostalgia, for once believing that sinking money into primary medical care for single mothers would save Medicaid dollars in the long run. Maybe it actually would have if they didn’t reverse the bill after eight months, he thought. Too many heads connected to one body, thinking, calculating, and scheming without ever understanding the effects on a small scale.

  Well, it’s because I’m only the Mayor, he once thought. As a Governor I could really make a change. He believed for a long time after he had lost the gubernatorial election that he would’ve made a definitive difference. For years he was angry about losing the election and lobbied on several occasions to change gerrymandering laws. I wasted four years of my life trying to change election laws with the ACLU, four completely wasted years. I can’t believe I actually thought that they would make all elections only publicly funded to weed out rich influentials that don’t give a shit about anyone else. He believed that everyone around him was ignorant, only to find that he was the only idiot that thought things could change, when everything only goes in circles.

  He looked down at his phone on the seat beside him and checked the time. “You got three more minutes,” he said to no one. One minute later, the phone rang. He picked it up and saw a blocked number calling in. He answered quickly. “Mayberry,” he said.

  “Hello,” Malik said softly.

  “Yes, yes hello. Where in the hell are you?”

  “Japan.”

  “Where in Japan?” he sat up in the car seat.

  “Tokyo.”

  Mayberry talked slowly. “Tell me everything that’s happened since we last talked. Be as clear and concise as possible.”

  “We got to Tokyo yesterday after they attacked Seoul.”

  “What happened there? Why didn’t you know that the attack was going to happen?”

  “They didn’t tell me… but I was… on the plane.”

  “What plane?”

  “One of the planes that dropped the infected bodies.”

  “You couldn’t stop them?” his voice rose.

  Malik sighed. “I had no idea what they were going to do. I’m… sorry. I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you anything before the Seoul attack.”

  “This has all been a mistake.” Mayberry groaned. “A two-fucking-year mistake. We had you in there for that long and you had no idea that they even had their hands on the virus?”

  “There was nothing I could do. They are very careful about what they talk about. They only tell me about the activity in other countries, nothing ever about where I am currently. I can only tell you something new…”

  “What?”

  “There is going to be a major attack that will originate in Venezuela.”

  “Are they going to try to spread the virus there too?”

  “I don’t think so…”

  “Why not?”

  “Because all the militant groups are converging at that spot. I don’t think that the Sirr would send all his soldiers there if they were just going to cause an outbreak. I think an assault force will come up from the Venezuelan coast to the United States. They tell me that the Chinese Navy will rendezvous on the coast of Venezuela as well.”

  “So, you’ve talked to the Sirr again?”

  “No, no only the once.”

  “Oh, so he didn’t call to give you any more poems?” Mayberry paused. “Is there any chance that you’re lying to me, agent?”

  Malik responded without hesitation. “Absolutely not.”

  “You wouldn’t want me to find out that you’ve been deceiving the CIA, would you agent?”

  “No, sir.”

  “We wouldn’t want anyone finding out about your son, would we?”

  Malik fell silent.

  “Agent?” Mayberry said.

  “No, Mayberry, we wouldn’t want that.”

  “You can call me ‘sir.’ Always call me ‘sir,’ ” Mayberry said sternly.

  “Yes, sir.” Malik said softly.

  “Tell me something more. I have a meeting with the President in thirty minutes.”

  “No. I have nothing else to tell you.”

  “Good bye.” Mayberry hung up the phone and looked back up at his own eyes in the rearview mirror. He was about to turn on the ignition when his phone beeped. On the screen was one text from Rambert: “Jerusalem attacked.”

  *****

  “So where’s our guy?” Rambert took off his suit jacket, draped it over the desk chair, and sat down.

  “At the present moment, he is in Tokyo.” Mayberry sat across from him, setting his coffee on the table.

  “Tokyo now? When was the last communication that he had with you?”

  “Today.”

  “Well, what the hell did he have to say? Why didn’t he give us any warning about the attack in Seoul?”

  “He had no idea what was about to happen.”

  “Well, what did he tell you?”

  “Mr. President, please let me give a full report before you keep asking questions.” Mayberry took a sip of his coffee.

  Rambert looked surprised. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Go ahead. I’ll shut up for the moment.”

  “Our agent apparently had been kept ignorant of the Seoul attacks. The only information he has, is that there is convergence happening somewhere in Venezuela. He says that is where all the cells are heading next.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, so it is encouraging that he is confirming our independent suspicions of Venezuela.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it means that they’re finally trusting him with accurate information.”

  “Did he know anything about the attacks in Mexico City and now in Jeru—” Rambert cut himself off and clasped his hands together. “Sorry, continue.”

  “The only information we’re getting from him, and what he was really stressing the most, was the activity that we’ve been seeing in Venezuela. He says there is going to be some sort of major militarization happening in Venezuela, not only with the Sirr group, but also China.”

  “How would he, or this terrorist group, know this?”

  “I, uh, I don’t really know. Look, the conversation was brief, and he appeared to be under an extreme amount of stress.”

  “Could he have been coerced?”

  “Possibly.”

  “What kind of militarization?”

  “He didn’t give specifics, bu
t he said it would likely be an attack on the United States.”

  “Why would he know about an attack coming up on the United States but not know about the Seoul attack?” Rambert asked. “No… I don’t like this.”

  “Mr. President, I have full trust in this particular agent.”

  “He may be trustworthy, but they may know he’s an agent, and they’re giving him false information to feed directly to us.”

  “Of course, I have considered this possibility, but combined with the intel that we already have about the Chinese Navy on the coast of Venezuela, it seems credible.”

  “Have you considered the fact that he may be dead and they’re using someone else to talk to you?”

  Mayberry sighed loudly in frustration. “I’m the director of the CIA. I get paid to think of scenarios like that.”

  “Did he say anything else?” Rambert replied, mirroring his frustration.

  “I would’ve told you if he had. It was about a thirty second conversation, and he hung up.” Mayberry rose from his chair and went across the room. He felt the urge to look out of a window but realized there weren’t any in the entire building.

  “Hey, Chuck,” Rambert said to his back. “Seoul, Mexico City, and now Jerusalem are exploding with the most deadly virus known to man. I’m sorry if your paltry information from some guy on the other side of the planet doesn’t give me any comfort. We need to know who the hell is behind all this!” Rambert felt anger growing inside, something he had always been able to control until he had become the President. He could usually quench frustration and set it aside to move forward pragmatically, but now he found himself screaming at someone and moving onto the next room to do the same wherever he was. “No one knows shit about the dart-shooting drone in D.C., and we have a threatened southern border now. We can’t let this fucking thing get into the States again!” he yelled, shaking with anger, realizing that most of it was directed at the absent Dr. Stark.

  “Mr. President, we will not let that virus cross the U.S. border.” Mayberry turned. “I’m just as shocked about Houser getting infected as anyone…Just right in front of us… How could they have known that we were in that room at that very moment?”