by Joe Nobody
“Sir? I don’t understand, Captain.”
Norse pulled a small pack from his back, holding the parcel out for Thompson to see in the dim light. “I’ve become a thief, Lieutenant. Inside this pack, you’ll find the serum, formulas and processes to create it and the booster that will be required.”
Thompson was in shock, not sure he was in full grasp of his faculties. “I… I… I don’t know what to say, sir.”
“Take this bag, Lieutenant. Go save the world. If my new hosts catch on to what I’ve done, they’ll probably kill me on the spot. If not, I look forward to returning to the outfit and seeing all the men. Good luck, Thompson.”
Norse dropped the bag on the ground and turned, walking away from the still speechless officer. After a few minutes, Thompson ran quickly and retrieved the pack.
The president looked out the window as Marine One flew over Washington, DC. After four weeks at Camp David, the chief executive’s mood was brightened by the opportunity to finally return to the White House.
So positive was his attitude, the leader of the free world overlooked the signs of devastation passing beneath the helicopter, instead choosing to focus on the future and rebuilding the country… and the world.
The vaccine captured by the 7th had arrived just in time, every nation on the planet pulling out all the stops to produce the serum in mass quantities. The final death toll had been less than 30 million worldwide. He chuckled, the U.S. Cavalry had once again come to the rescue.
But a lot of damage had been done. Five nuclear weapons had been detonated, the new threat of radiation dominating the headlines. Still, the president couldn’t help but feel the world had dodged a huge bullet. The nukes had been low yield, small by some measures.
Famine was still a potential, other diseases born of bad water, lack of sanitation, and a weakened population still posing a serious threat. All of those issues were in the minor leagues compared to Ebola-B.
He exited to saluting Marines, trekking briskly across the White House lawn that had been freshly mowed just for his return. As he had ordered, the members of the Joint Chiefs were waiting for him in the situation room.
“I want a full invasion of Houston,” he declared without any fanfare. “I want those terrorist criminals in that city either dead or facing justice. There are 30 million murders hanging over their heads, and the American people, along with the international community, are clamoring for justice.”
As the meeting progressed, it was clear the generals didn’t like the assignment. The chairman, never a shy man, even went so far as to ask, “Hasn’t there already been enough killing, Mr. President?”
The response was unpleasant.
But, the military still reported to the elected, civilian authority. They would follow orders.
A week later, the invasion began.
Colonel Taylor and the residents of the Gulf Republic were ready. The lightly armed irregulars mounted a spirited defense, the U.S. forces soon discovering that most of their foe would fight to the death. Surrenders were rare, suicidal last-stands all too common.
Using improvised explosive devices, virtually any weapon at their disposal, and well-led guerrilla tactics, Taylor’s men put up one hell of a fight. Despite their motivation and bravery, the defenders were constantly being pushed back. The U.S. military was the greatest fighting force ever assembled, an irresistible juggernaut that continued to close the noose around the defenders’ necks.
The outcome was never in doubt. Waves of armor rolled into the Bayou City, dozens of gunship helicopters and fixed wing bombers in support overhead.
On the first day of the attack, Elissa and Shane were evacuated to an emergency aid station housed in the tunnels below downtown Houston. The ex-captain soon found himself helping treat the scores of wounded men transported from the battlefield. The carnage was unlike anything the ex-military officer had ever experienced.
Shane awoke with the wall vibrating behind his back. Startled and unsure of where he was, he swept the large chamber with a blank expression. It all came back, orientation bringing along the horror of the last three days with it.
He spied piles upon heaps of discarded medical waste. Bloody scraps of clothing, crimson stained bandages - everything from syringes to water bottles littering the floor.
In the middle were rows of tables, most holding wounded men. Doctors and nurses, donning surgical masks and red-stained gowns rushed here and there. Shane watched blankly as someone threw a bucket of clear liquid on an empty table, fixated on the mixture of blood, gore and water splashing on the concrete floor and forming a river as it streamed to a nearby drain.
Again, his back shook with a tremor, the shudder immediately followed by bits of plaster and concrete falling from the ceiling, and then the sound of distant thunder. The bombs. They were getting close.
Shane stood, his first thought of Elissa. He had to sweep the room again, eventually finding the physician bent over a man withering in pain as a masked caregiver and she worked on the shreds of tissue that had been the patient’s leg.
Norse’s barely functioning brain began to register the sounds. Screams of pain, moaning, pleas for help, and the shouted instructions of medical personnel filled his ears. He shook it off, returning to a state of audio withdrawal that had seen him through the last 48 hours.
He made for Elissa, wondering what he could do to help the obviously struggling physician. She was staring down at the patient, leaning over the man as if she was having a casual conversation. She nodded… nodded again… and then reached under her gown and produced a pistol.
“Ending here!” she shouted over the din, and then moved the gun to the patient’s chest, placed the barrel in a precise spot, and pulled the trigger.
The wounded man jumped once, as if a jolt of electricity had surged through his frame. But then the withering agony left him, blood still running a red river to the floor.
Shane was no longer shocked at the procedure. The Gulf Republic hadn’t had any pain medications in months, the city’s supply used up quickly for those in the throes of Ebola-B’s grasp. The surgeons did their best, but many of the battlefield wounds generated agony far beyond the human threshold of endurance. Many chose a bullet.
Elissa turned and saw him approaching. She pulled down the mask, exposing the blank, stoic expression Shane had come to expect from the woman he loved.
“Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. “You have to take a break… no argument now… walk with me, and at least get a drink of water.”
She started to protest, but was too tired to put up much of a fight. Besides, it would take the orderlies a few minutes to clean her assigned table.
They hadn’t managed more than five steps when an urgent sounding voice called across the room, “Doctor Herald! Doctor Herald! You better come… quick!”
She broke free of his embrace, moving with short steps across the slick surface of concrete. Shane followed, making a mental note to throw a bucket of sand on the slippery section of floor.
He caught up with Elissa, finding her kneeling over yet another wounded man lying on a stretcher. It was Colonel Taylor. His face was filthy, his shirt and pants soiled and shredded. There was a growing pool of blood in the center of his chest.
“They’ll breach this section in less than 10 minutes,” he gasped, struggling desperately to draw breath. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but I won’t be able to stay and celebrate our victory.”
“Go and find peace, Jack. Go knowing that justice was served, and that you made the world a better place,” Elissa replied, squeezing the wounded warrior’s hand in a gentle embrace.
“Are you going to join me soon, Elissa?”
“Yes, if they’re that close, I’ll be seeing you in a few minutes. Save a good seat for me, Colonel. One with a great view,” she smiled.
Shane watched, completely confused by the exchange. While he tried to figure it out, the colonel’s body shuddered, and then his back arc
hed off the ground. He was gone.
Before he could ask, Elissa stood, taking one last affectionate glance at her friend’s body. Turning to Shane, she directed, “Come on, I need your help.”
She started moving, tugging on his hand and rushing around a corner, heading down a hall that housed several break rooms. At the third entrance, she found one of the small, quiet areas unoccupied. Pulling him inside, she closed and locked the door behind her.
“What the hell were you and the colonel talking about back…” he started, but she put a finger to his lips stopping the question cold.
“I need you to do me one last favor, Shane,” she said, pulling the pistol from her belt. “I need you to end my life before the U.S. troops get in here. I don’t want to give them the pleasure, yet I’m not sure I can do it myself.”
“What? What on God’s earth are you saying, Elissa? You want me to shoot you?”
“Yes,” she said with a warm expression. “If they take me alive, I’m dead anyway. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction.”
“They wouldn’t kill a woman… or a doctor… not unless you attacked them or did something really stupid.”
Again smiling warmly, she shook her head. “Yes, Shane, they will execute me if I’m taken alive. They will splash my death all over the media. I did attack them… I’ve killed millions of them. They know who I am.”
“But you developed the cure. You are responsible for saving the world! Even if I hadn’t handed over the…” he stopped mid-sentence, realizing he was confessing his crime. “If I hadn’t handed over the serum,” he finished, his guilty chin coming to rest on his chest.
When he finally peered back into her eyes, instead of anger or hurt, he found nothing but understanding and love. “I know,” she whispered. “I’ve known all along. My lab had surveillance cameras, and when I saw the samples were missing, it was easy to determine who had made off with the serum.”
Shane was really confused now, shaking his head, still unable to grasp what the woman he adored was getting at.
“Did the colonel know?” he questioned, trying to replay the last month of his life. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you guys let me get away with it?”
She pulled him close, rising on her toes to kiss him softly. “Did you hear Colonel Taylor say he wished he could hang around to enjoy our victory?”
“Yes… what was he talking about anyway?”
“The serum, Shane. The samples you took from my lab. That was a batch we had discarded due to the side effects. Yes, it blocked Ebola-B, but the cure was worse than the disease.”
“What? What the hell are you saying?”
Her smile widened, “You are actually the most effective weapon we were able to deploy. The serum and instructions you gave the enemy will indeed stop the virus, and you ensured that billions and billions of people received an injection. The last I heard, over 98% of the population had been inoculated. You gave us an even greater victory, exceeded our highest expectations.”
Shane was reeling, trying to comprehend her words. Before he could speak, an explosion roared down the hallway outside their door, followed by shouts, screams, and gunfire that was now close. Very close.
Elissa hefted the pistol, handing him the grip. “Please, Shane. I can’t do it myself. Please don’t let them take me alive. I beg you.”
He reached for the weapon, his trembling hand recoiling when it first touched the grip. He looked into her desperate eyes, seeing a truly frightened woman on the edge of hysteria. “Please, Shane,” she again begged, glancing with terror at the door.
More screams and gunfire erupted; this time sounding like the battle was taking place right outside of their room.
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll do it if that’s what you want.”
She nodded eagerly, closing her eyes in a tight squint as he lifted the weapon. She jerked, just a little, when the cold barrel touched the underside of her chin.
“Wait. Before I do this, I have to know. What side effect? What did I unleash on the world?”
She opened her eyes, a peaceful expression encompassing her face. “The version of the serum that you stole was still being refined. You see, women who ingest the early forms of the antidote are unable to reproduce. It sterilizes the female reproductive systems, Shane. Think about what this means! Other than our Gold females sequestered here in Houston, humankind will no longer be able to procreate. The callous, insensitive, power hungry populace on the other side of the wall will all die out in less than 100 years.”
Shane’s ears were ringing, his heart racing as if it were going to explode. A kaleidoscope of images began cascading through his mind.
There was the joy on his parents face when he graduated from the academy, his father beaming brightly. “This is the best day of my life, son,” his dad had spouted. “This is every father’s dream come true.”
And then there was the surprise on Mother’s Day, his flight back from a 13-month tour in Iraq landing just in time for him to visit mom on her special day. She had held him tight, tears of joy soaking through the breast of his fatigues. “To see you home is all I’ve wanted. You’ll understand one of these days when you have children of your own.”
But now that would never happen. Billions would be denied one of the most fundamental desires of the species. What would become of love? Families? Society?
The memories continued to flash: playgrounds, schools, birthday parties, and little league games. What would a world without children be like?
Shane shook his head to clear the images, the future so horrible his mind rebelled against reality. A minute or more passed while the confused man struggled to function.
Finally, when he could focus, hatred filled his eyes as he stared hard at Elissa. “You’ve betrayed me,” he whispered with trembling lips. “You’ve betrayed all of us.”
Elissa seemed surprised by his reaction. “It was your choice. You made it freely.”
The underground room was filled with the roar of a single gunshot.
Captain Thompson hustled to keep up with his lead rifle squad, the desperate resistance they had been fighting for three days now crumbling as the last pockets were being mopped up.
His promotion, combined with the ongoing invasion of Houston, had forced him to leave his beloved Thunder, the tank now replaced by a command model Stryker. But that didn’t mean the young officer still couldn’t lead from the front.
He watched with pride as his men fanned out, clearing the tunnels of any last holdouts. They moved with precision, a choreographed routine as finely tuned as any Broadway musical.
Thompson noted he was passing through what had evidently been an aid station, the piles of medical trash and rows of operating tables now abandoned and in disarray. The chamber reeked of the copper-like odor of blood.
There wasn’t any time to reflect or study, fast-moving, close quarters combat requiring every man to focus on the far corner, the distant doorway, or the next room. Eliminate threats, clear the space, move on.
After the large operating chamber, they approached a hall with several smaller rooms. The point man found the third door was locked, his team taking up positions on both sides of the threshold and preparing to force their way inside.
The lead NCO raised his 12-gauge shotgun, turning to the squad and yelling, “Breaching! Clear!”
A heavy slug slammed into the lock. Another followed, and then a boot kicked the weakened barrier inward.
Before the door could even swing back on its hinges, they were pouring in. Rifles high and sweeping for any threat.
Thompson waited in the hall, his weapon ready to rush in and help if his men encountered any sort of resistance.
“Captain!” came a voice from inside. “You might want to see this.”
The officer entered, finding his men in a circle, surrounding a single woman who was on her knees. The prisoner’s fingers were interlocked behind her head, the barrels of three rifles pointed directly at her temp
les. She was sobbing, her hysterical eyes darting around the room, her expression betraying her terror.
A man’s body lay crumpled in a heap before her. A pistol rested on his pale, lifeless hand, and a puddle of blood encircled his skull.
Something caused Thompson to give the dead man a second look… to take a step closer. Sighing, the captain peered up at the squad’s sergeant.
The two soldiers exchanged a knowing glance, a shared moment of sadness passing between them.
Thompson bent down, pulling a rumpled sheet from the floor. He draped it over the corpse, his demeanor clearly indicative of respect. “Rest in peace, Captain Shane Norse. May God have mercy on your soul.”
The End
