The Ebola Wall

by Joe Nobody

“So what happened to him?” Anna pressed.

  “He passed away, honey. He was pretty old, you know, and he didn’t wake up one morning,” the mother answered, anticipating an emotional reaction to the news.

  “Sorry to hear that,” Anna shrugged.

  And that was it. No tears, no more questions, no sadness whatsoever. It was troubling.

  Mother and father struggled to help their children, unsure of how to treat or react to their behavior. The only determination they could make was to show unconditional love and hope for the best.

  After a few days, it became clear that the worst of it had nothing to do with either child’s experiences in Houston. No, what eroded the situation in the middle class, suburban household was the fact that two of the McMillian clan were fugitives, and the other two were harboring them.

  The first time a police cruiser rolled innocently down the street, Mrs. McMillian nearly had a spell. “I don’t want to go to jail,” she kept whispering to her husband as they watched the cop drive by. “Oh, God, please don’t send me to jail.” His wife’s pale complexion and shaking hands were a telling sign of the fear that gripped his once happy home.

  Paige finally brought things to a head. “I’m going to Washington,” she announced. “I can’t sit here, hiding from the authorities while doing nothing to help the people back in Houston. Anna and I are going to join the big protest march and do our part. It’s just something we have to do.”

  Again, Mr. McMillian tried to be temperate. “Paige, I don’t think traveling the roads would be prudent. Really, sweetie, for your own safety I don’t think you should go. Besides, your mom and I just got you back – the thought of your leaving so soon would crush both of us.”

  “We can take care of ourselves,” Anna had countered, obviously informed about the plan. “We’ll just be gone a few days. You weren’t there, Daddy. You don’t understand. Paige and I have to do something… we have to help those people we left behind.”

  Paige’s next statement ended the debate. “You and mom are trying so hard to help us heal, and we love you for it. Taking this trip to Washington is the best therapy for both of us. We have to feel like we’re a part of something, like we are part of the solution. Besides, we were cooped up inside of what was essentially a prison for months. Going cross-country and having a little freedom will feel good.”

  Reluctantly, Mr. and Mrs. McMillian agreed, the concerned father handing over his truck keys.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Paige surprised him again. “We want to take the bus. We want to look out the windows and see the countryside roll by.”

  And so they did.

  Two days later, Mr. McMillian waved goodbye to his two daughters, both of their faces pressed against the Greyhound’s window – Anna vigorously waving, Paige blowing kisses.

  Their itinerary involved a stop in Branson, Missouri, Anna dying to see her favorite Country and Western star perform live. After an overnight stay, they planned a stopover in Indianapolis, Mr. McMillian discovering that the local Dallas Mavericks were playing the Indiana Pacers in a professional basketball game. Paige was a huge fan of the sport. The tickets would be waiting at the will-call booth, not three blocks from the bus station. A hotel on Market Square would provide the last evening’s rest before their final leg to Washington, DC.

  The girls were giddy, the parents concerned. Anna didn’t have a permit to carry a concealed handgun, yet wouldn’t part with the weapon. Given her demonstrated jumpiness, there was good cause for worry.

  Yet, both of the elder McMillians could understand. The girls had been through an experience that rivaled hardcore, extended combat. In a way, both suffered symptoms not so different from a returning soldier’s Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. Professional help was out of the question, however, any answers addressing the source of their affliction likely to land both girls back in some sort of prison.

  Chapter 4

  The fever was unlike anything Captain Norse had ever experienced, the pain racking his brain giving the officer an entirely new perspective of the word “unbearable.”

  His body couldn’t seem to settle on any single hell. The shivering waves of cold came from inside his core, as if a surgeon had inserted a block of dry ice in his gut. About the time his tortured mind began to adjust to that anguish, the captain’s chest began to scorch with a fire from deep within.

  The wild swings between hot and cold weren’t the worst of it, however. Every joint in his body felt like it was hinged with sandpaper. Any movement, from breathing to vomiting, was pure torture. He wanted to die and mentioned as much to his doctor.

  Upon hearing the request, Dr. Herald nodded her understanding. Without a second thought, the physician unsnapped the .45 caliber pistol on her belt. “I’ll make this as painless as possible,” she said without emotion, using a slingshot action to chamber a round in the big weapon.

  Norse couldn’t believe his eyes; his pain-scrambled mind thinking it was some sort of joke. “Head or chest?” she asked calmly.

  “Seriously?” he managed to croak. “You would seriously shoot me?”

  Tilting her head, Elissa seemed puzzled by his question. After a bit, her robotic expression changed, a dim flush of anger in her eyes. “Why, of course I would. What do you think I am, some sort of animal?” she protested. “Why do you think I carry such a heavy, big caliber? I don’t want my patients to suffer, and the .45 has proven to be the most efficient, at least in the few hundred or so euthanizing procedures I’ve had to perform.”

  Her statements were so shocking he was distracted from the pain. Still, it wasn’t lost on Norse that he was entirely at her mercy. But the surprise wasn’t over. “Most of my patients wait until they’re too weak to hold the gun themselves,” she stated. “If you feel strong enough to hold this weapon with a steady hand, I can let you do it.”

  The captain’s mind tried desperately to reconcile the dichotomy being presented by the woman at his bedside. Here was a healer, a trained physician who had taken an oath to do no harm, and a young female to boot. Yet, her cold eyes and tone left little doubt that she would indeed kill him without a second thought.

  It then dawned on him how the troops manning the wall had dealt with the guilt of gunning down escapees. More than once, he had mentally justified such action with a claim of “ending human suffering.” But he was a warrior. He was indoctrinated to fight and kill the enemy. What on God’s earth had this doctor experienced to reach such a place?

  She seemed to sense his thoughts. Shaking her head at the miscommunication, Dr. Herald began to explain. “We ran out of pain medications shortly after the Q… the quarantine began. The final stages of Ebola-B are excruciatingly painful, Captain. We had wards with tens of thousands of suffering people. Euthanasia, by a bullet, became a popular choice among those withering in agony from the affliction. As evil or inhumane as it may sound now, it was the only alternative we could offer at the time.”

  Norse tired to contemplate what this woman had endured, but was interrupted by his stomach, the troubled organ picking that moment to initiate another round of dry heaves.

  Without the slightest flinch, Dr. Herald reached to lift the bucket beside his cot. Norse no longer had the strength to make the short trip to the toilet. Only bile and blood came up, his only intake having been water for two days.

  Maybe that bullet isn’t such a bad plan, he thought, taking a sip of the offered drink. I’m beginning to understand.

  “It’s your choice, Captain,” Elissa continued. “If you do survive, you’ll find out that word has a new meaning here inside of the wall. Here, terms like liberty, freedom, and choice have new definitions. We all heard those words growing up, but never really understood their value. I seriously doubt any of us did. But now I, and about 700,000 other survivors know. We’ve seen what it’s like to have those things stripped from a blameless population. If you live, I’m sure you’ll eventually understand what I’m talking about. Let me know if you want to exercise your
choice and decide the pain’s too much.”

  He nodded weakly, and then changed the subject. “What are my odds of beating this thing?”

  “Not good. While you’re young and strong, that only seems to help a little with this bug. I’ve seen 70-year old grandmothers live through it. I also witnessed 25-year old athletes die quickly. The virus is very indiscriminant; it doesn’t care about race, gender, or age.”

  It occurred to Norse that his caregiver wasn’t wearing protection of any sort. It seemed odd, given the countless images the media had broadcast – doctors and nurses protected to the hilt with astronaut-type suits. “You don’t seem to have any fear of catching Ebola,” he whispered. “Why?”

  She snorted, an almost guilty expression crossing her face. “I’m a Gold,” she replied sheepishly. “About 2% of mankind seems to be naturally immune. I carry the virus in my blood, but it doesn’t seem to want to attack my body.”

  “So it does discriminate… at least in some way.”

  She nodded, “I suppose. Anyway, I must continue with my rounds. I have a pregnant mother who’s in labor and could pop any time. We’re not sure what to expect with the child… at least as far as the virus is concerned.”

  Norse watched her leave his cell, noticing that she didn’t bother to lock the door. “The door,” he smiled weakly, “you forgot to lock me in.”

  “Even if you could walk, Captain, where would you go?”

  And then she was gone.

  Doctor Herald continued down the hall, turning the corner and almost bumping into Colonel Taylor.

  “How’s our patient, Doctor?”

  “He’s 10-15 hours away from entering stage-3 trial. Do you still want me to offer him the serum?”

  Taylor rubbed his chin, pondering the question. “Does he fit the profile?”

  She shrugged. “He’s an acceptable example.”

  Taylor digested her words for a short time. “Offer him the trial. Don’t mention any of the other experiments or results, make it seem like he’s a lone wolf.”

  “Sounds like a plan, sir… if he makes it that long. I offered him a bullet today, and I was worried he was actually going to accept.”

  “It’s his choice, Doc, and so is the serum treatment. Prisoner or not, he still has the right to make his own decisions. We’re never going to let that be taken away from anyone again. We’re never going back to the way it was.”

  “Amen to that, sir. Amen to that.”

  “Do you have preliminary results from the other tests?”

  “Yes, sir. We are seeing 99% survival rates from Cavers, over 95% from the stage three patients. The captain is one of the few stage two examples we have available, so his participation will be helpful.”

  Taylor nodded, obviously pleased with the news. “That’s an excellent report, Doctor. Sounds like we might have this thing beaten, once and for all.”

  The physician wasn’t so sure. “As long as it doesn’t mutate on us again, sir, you’re correct. Still, it takes huge amounts of Gold blood to manufacture the serum. The blood drives are still going well, but there are only so many of us. Personally, I’ve given so much plasma I feel like I’ve been exposed to a castle full of vampires.”

  The colonel chuckled at the analogy. “Our sending 200 of the Golds over the wall probably didn’t help much, but I’m still convinced it was a worthwhile operation. As far as the serum goes, I’m told there may be a way to make the process more efficient, but it could take months before we figure that out.”

  “That’s correct, sir. Our scientific resources are extremely limited. It’s the one area I wish we could solicit help from outside the wall.”

  “They’d never believe us. You know they’ve written us off; they would just think it was another trick born of desperation. Besides, they’re going to be very busy in just a few days.”

  Her commander’s words reminded Elissa of the recent operation. She half-turned, looking around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Any word on the escapees, sir?”

  Taylor repeated her proximity check for unwelcome ears, and then responded in a low whisper. “We’ve intercepted communications that indicate they only captured or killed about 20. Like your test results, those numbers are better than our most optimistic estimates. In about five days, all hell is going to break loose on the other side of that wall.”

  “That’s excellent news, sir. You just made my day.”

  Anna and Paige were amazed at the masses of people gathered at the National Mall. Fueled by the sheer number of attendees present, an air of excitement had taken hold of the crowd.

  The girls were also pleased to see the wide range of ages present. On their bus ride from Indianapolis, Paige had expressed concern that Houston’s plight was going to become another issue ignored by the older generations of Americans, much like the oft-compared movements protesting the Vietnam War.

  But that didn’t appear to be the case as the girls meandered along the reflecting pool, taking in the sights and soaking up the energy being emitted by tens of thousands of like-minded people.

  “The speakers are supposed to start in less than an hour,” Anna noted, glancing at her watch. “We should probably be heading toward the Lincoln Memorial.”

  “This is all so very cool,” Paige responded. “Still, it’s going to be hard to top the Maverick’s overtime win in Indy last night.”

  “I’m so glad we did this, Sis. I was worried Mom and Dad weren’t going to see things our way.”

  The older sibling nodded, her warm smile turning into something else. “It’s our duty, kiddo,” she said in a low voice. “We swore an oath to expose as many people as possible, and I plan on keeping my word. That fact that we are having a little fun doing it makes it all the better.”

  Anna kept her voice low as well, “How long before they start getting sick?”

  “Three to five days is what the colonel said,” came the reply. “By then, we’ll be back home in Dallas and watching it all unfold on the news.”

  Paige watched her younger sister frown, instinctively knowing what was bothering the youngest McMillian. “Don’t worry, Anna. The doctors were pretty sure our immunity was genetic in origin. It’s very unlikely our parents will get sick.”

  “I know,” Anna said. “Still, it was so much easier to commit to all this before we went back home. It was so much easier when we weren’t looking in their eyes every day.”

  “They’ll be fine,” Paige assured, opening her arms to pull the younger girl close in a hug.

  After they’d finished the embrace, Paige looked into Anna’s pensive eyes. “Ready?”

  Anna nodded, a smile forming on her lips. “Breathe deep, sister, and share the fresh air of freedom with as many of the people as you can.”

  Chapter 5

  The CDC’s news conference didn’t break any new ground as far as the average American was concerned. There had been other cases of Ebola-B reported across the country, so the announcement of a new, positively identified, victim in Atlanta wasn’t any big deal.

  The officials reassured the semi-bored press corps that the individual had been isolated, the agency’s disease detectives executing what had now become a fairly common exercise in identifying all potential contacts.

  Despite the U.S. Army’s siege of Houston, the occasional escape was bound to happen. A few of the news hounds were a little concerned when the CDC doctors reported that the infected individual swore he’d never traveled near the Texas epicenter, but victims had lied before. The last known example was a fisherman who had somehow managed to bypass the naval blockade of Galveston Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. When he surfaced in rural Louisiana, the old fellow claimed he hated Texas and had never so much as laid a foot in the Lone Star State. Three of his family members and he had all died of Ebola-B less than 10 days later.

  Those closely monitoring the cable news networks became a little more apprehensive when less than two hours later a second possible case was identified in Boston.
By the time the Eastern Seaboard was listening to the radio during the rush-hour commute home, panic was beginning to grip the upper echelons of government.

  All that night, more and more reports continued to surface, hospitals, clinics, and emergency centers inundated with patients showing signs of infection.

  Teams of medical specialists hustled to the Atlanta airport for outbound flights, their worried faces belaying what the CDC’s staff already knew. Ebola-B had somehow broken free from Houston and was now roaming the country at will. Everyone was aware the new strain was far more dangerous than the original version that had killed so many in West Africa. “It’s like comparing a nuclear warhead to a firecracker,” one epidemiologist had stated back when Ebola-B had first been discovered.

  The president of the United States, surrounded by key members of his cabinet, was watching a wall of monitors. The White House situation room was capable of observing practically every public news source, as well as military and government communications. Despite the dozens of news displays, all eyes were focused on the private feed from the head of the CDC. The doctor’s solemn face managed to convey both fear and exhaustion at the same time.

  “Mr. President, we’re losing. I don’t know how to say it any differently. This new strain has a much shorter incubation period and is transmitted in an airborne fashion. I expect us to be overwhelmed in less than 48 hours.”

  “What happened to the optimism you expressed just last week, Doctor? What has changed since your last status report crossed my desk?” the chief executive demanded, his tone harsh and frustrated.

  “Sir, we didn’t anticipate being attacked. No one here in Atlanta was prepared for the virus to be used as a weapon against our country.”

  “What?” exclaimed the Commander in Chief. “What in the hell are you talking about, Doctor?”

  “You’ve not been informed, sir? Our analysis of the outbreak’s spread leaves very little doubt that Ebola-B was intentionally distributed across our nation. Look at this map, sir.”