by Bobby Akart
“I’m listening, old buddy,” the President said with a chuckle.
“What if, arguendo, this was the only cure known to man on the planet?”
“Said like a true lawyer,” interrupted the President. “But, okay, for the sake of argument, we’re the only ones who possess the cure. Go ahead.”
“And this cure needs to be refined, tested, tested again, etcetera, etcetera,” continued Morse, rolling his hands over and over again. “What if we didn’t want to risk harm to the citizens of other nations during the human trial testing, opting instead to risk American lives, you know, just to make sure the cure in fact worked without risking the lives of others.”
“Andrew.” The President laughed. He was picking up on Morse’s train of thought. “Off the top of your head, what is the normal lead time for bringing a new pharmaceutical drug from conception to market?”
“Mr., um, Tomas, it’s my understanding, from what I read in the papers, that it takes twelve years for a drug to travel from the research lab to the patient. Keep in mind that only twenty percent of drugs are approved for human usage.”
“Well, Andrew, what if a hypothetical, benevolent President and leader of the free world ordered the process to be expedited to, say, one year while human trials were conducted on Americans only, you know, for the sake of avoiding unnecessary risks to other countries’ citizens.”
“That’s right. Safety first,” added Morse.
“Isn’t it logical that the precipitous drop in the American population would halt, but sadly, the drop around the world would continue?”
Morse also leaned back in his chair and responded, “Hypothetically, I believe you’re right. It might have the unintended consequences of creating a world in which the United States could overwhelmingly dominate—socially, economically, and militarily.”
“But this domination would come with substantial risk to the American citizens who were a part of the clinical trials for the next year, or two.”
Morse grinned. “True, but consider this. In a year, or two, as you suggest, the hypothetical President could share the cure with the rest of the world’s population, you know, that remains.”
Chapter 37
Day Eighty-Nine
Star Ranch
Colorado Springs
To say their first few days in Colorado Springs were eventful would be an understatement. As a dot on the i and a cross to the t of their experiences, Mac and Hunter assisted Captain Hoover’s family through a very difficult time.
Mac had spent much of her free time with Chrissy Hoover, discussing her potential postpartum depression and the overwhelming feelings she had due to the pandemic. They also discussed what it was like to be the family member of a soldier who was suffering inside.
Hunter had several one-on-one conversations with Captain Hoover in which he discussed the telltale signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. Although Hunter was admittedly inexperienced at relationships, he and Captain Hoover had some genuine conversations about the loving and caring a man should give his wife.
Together, Mac and Hunter impressed upon the couple that their feelings were expected and not a sign of weakness. They also assured them they were capable of working through it. As the day came to a close, they were finally left alone with a couple of Budweisers.
“Mac, I don’t want to rehash this because I don’t think we have a choice. But I don’t trust the President. This is a man who has proven time after time to have an undisclosed agenda. I don’t want to be a tool in whatever game he’s playing.”
Mac took a small sip and let out a slight belch, followed by a giggle. “I think you’re being paranoid. Besides, what other options do we have? He’s the man at the top. It’s not like we can auction off the cure to the highest bidder. I suppose we could’ve negotiated a sweeter compensation package.”
Hunter laughed. “Mac, we didn’t get any compensation package. You’re being taken away from me to god knows where, and all I know is that there will be a house for us and your parents when I return from Breckenridge.”
“I realize that’s a lot of unknowns,” said Mac. “I still don’t see that we have a choice. We have to do what we have to do. I’m sure when you return from the mountains, they’ll bring me to you.”
Hunter finished his beer and crushed the can with his fist. “They don’t want to screw with me if they don’t.”
Mac handed him her beer. “Here, you drink it. I don’t want any more.”
Hunter took the beer and gave her kiss. “Wow, this is true love. It’s almost full. Do you have a fever?” He held his hand to her forehead.
“Nah, I just wanna be ready for tomorrow. The colonel said we’d be leaving right at sunrise.”
Hunter shook his head. “See, this is what I mean. He gave us absolute zero idea as to where you’re going. Back to Atlanta? Fort Collins?”
“All he said was there would be a military escort to the airport,” replied Mac. “I’ll know when I get there.”
“I still don’t like it,” said Hunter. “I’m gonna miss you. I’m already having separation anxiety.”
Mac hugged him around the waist and Hunter pulled her close for a kiss.
“Okay, you big baby,” said Mac. “You’ll be fine without me. At least I’ll know you’re safe with Hoover riding along. I trust him, and you guys work well together.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy and I’m glad they’re working things out,” said Hunter as he gave her another hug. “I think we need to get to bed. It’s a big day tomorrow.”
“Hunter, it’s only seven o’clock.”
“Yup. Come on.”
Chapter 38
Day Ninety
Denver International Airport
Denver
Mac’s driver informed her it was ninety miles from Star Ranch to Denver International Airport. A convoy of four vehicles transported her to Peterson Air Force Base, where she was loaded into a helicopter and flown directly to the tarmac adjacent to the main terminal.
The first thing that struck Mac as odd that morning after she arrived was the lack of operating flights. The facility appeared on the surface to be deserted except for a handful of Humvees driving around the perimeter of the airport with fifty-caliber machine guns mounted on top and operated by National Guardsmen.
To the untrained, uninformed eye, DIA was abandoned. Of course, Mac soon learned otherwise.
DIA was nestled on a fifty-four-square-mile parcel of land in northeast Denver. Surrounded by farmland, it was the second largest airport in the world behind King Fahd International in Saudi Arabia.
Prior to the collapse, Denver’s airport served over fifty million passengers a year and had recently completed a massive project called an aerotropolis just to the west of the runways. Based upon a derivative of the Greek words aero, or flight, and metropolis, generally meaning large town, the highly anticipated airport-driven economic development was hailed as a success by some, and a boondoggle by others.
The concept was innovative, blending a central commercial district, in this case, an airport, with commercial businesses, services, and residential areas to serve the airport. The community had been thriving and then it died, along with ninety-nine percent of the rest of Denver’s inner city.
Now, apparently deserted, the military patrols appeared to protect the buildings comprising the airport so that someday normal flight operations could resume.
“Did I miss my flight?” quipped Mac to the soldier sitting to her left as the helicopter flew in hard and fast toward a clearly marked helipad on the tarmac. He ignored her while the pilot set the chopper down flawlessly, causing Mac to look out her window to determine if they were in fact on the ground.
After the helicopter’s blades began to slow, her escort opened the door and helped Mac step onto the concrete tarmac. She carried nothing except her backpack containing her journal and the aluminum case, which continued to protect the cure for the plague.
A blast of wind blew debris i
n her direction, causing her to cover her face with her arm. The gravelly mix peppered her cheeks, stinging them slightly. The airport’s lack of use was apparently offering itself up to the barren landscape from which it came.
Mac attempted twice to make conversation with the soldier, and each time he ignored her. She wasn’t sure whether the man was rude or under orders. Either way, she followed him through the doors leading into the building and then down some stairs, which opened up in the baggage claim area.
Artwork adorned the walls of the airport and one in particular caught her attention. Under the circumstances, it was a grim reminder of the post-apocalyptic world in which she lived.
A mural depicting a large green soldier with an eagle symbol on his hat, a bayonet-tipped gun, and a large curved sword stood menacingly over a scene that appeared to be the artist’s rendition of poverty and distress. A woman clutching her baby and children sleeping in ruins were guarded by the soldier.
Mac’s first impression of the mural was that it was indicative of a police state where military oppression ruled the day. She looked at the placard revealing the name of the mural—The Children of the World Dream of Peace.
She stopped and stared at the artwork. To label it as dark was an understatement. “I disagree. Those kids aren’t dreaming about peace. They’re afraid of oppression.”
The soldier gently nudged Mac from behind with his arms and rifle. This startled Mac, who apparently gave him a fearful look.
“We need to keep moving.”
She nodded and caught up to her escort. He continued past the baggage claim area and approached a beige door located between the men’s and women’s restrooms. The steel door had a keyed lock and a pass card swipe machine next to it. The door was stenciled with a combination of letters and numbers—BE64B.
The soldier stopped and stood to the side as her other escort joined her. They both looked around the vacant baggage claim area to confirm they were alone.
“Ma’am,” said the talkative escort, “please turn around.”
Mac obliged but listened to the sounds of a keycard swiping the terminal and the lock cylinders turning inside the door. The door popped open.
“Okay, ma’am, this way.”
Mac took one more look around and stepped into what she thought was a utility closet servicing the two restrooms. Once again, she was surprised.
A dank, dusty hallway appeared before her. Footprints, all leading in, could be seen on the dusty concrete floor. Cinderblock walls rose on both sides of her to a concrete slab ceiling. A series of pipes ran the length of the hallway, as well as galvanized steel light fixtures that appeared every thirty feet or so—for as far as the eye could see.
The tunnel, Mac would later learn, stretched three miles away from the main terminal some one hundred and twenty feet below the ground to an area northwest of the airport. It took them nearly an hour to walk the entire distance, without a word spoken between the three of them.
At the end of the hallway, the entry routine was repeated. Mac turned around, the lock’s mechanized sound filled the air, and the door opened. This time, Mac’s eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open in amazement. She blinked twice and then leaned against the doorjamb to take it all in.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“I-I’m not sure,” she replied.
Chapter 39
Day Ninety
Stapleton Underground Bunker
Denver
Mac thought she’d just stepped up to the reception desk of a massive, sixteen-story hotel, only it was upside down in the sense that the lobby was on the top floor and the hotel stretched toward the center of the earth below them. She slowly walked toward a polished brass rail sitting atop a Plexiglas barrier and peered over the edge without getting too close. The building, or cellar, or bunker, whatever it was called, dropped hundreds of feet straight down except for walkways, which traversed the interior.
Then she looked upward to a series of tubes and large vent fans, which spread across the ceiling. The tubular skylights provided a pathway for the sun to provide diffused natural light while the fans provided an exhaust for stale air.
Mac was suddenly dizzy and wobbled on her feet a little. She closed her eyes to get her bearings and regain her balance when a familiar voice brought her back to normal.
“Dr. Hagan, are you a sight for sore eyes!” exclaimed Dr. Tom Spielman, the director of the CDC and her former boss.
Mac rushed to greet him and provided him an impromptu hug, a personal gesture considered wholly inappropriate and taboo at the CDC, but somehow not untoward under these circumstances.
“Dr. Spielman, I’m so glad you’re—” started Mac before she caught herself. “It is so good to see you, naturally. Although all of this is a little, um, weird, maybe?”
Dr. Spielman began to laugh. “Indeed. It’s very sci-fi and futuristic. Trust me, some of this is borderline weird science. Let’s get you properly checked in and then I’ll show you around.”
He led her back to the desk, where Mac showed identification. She was fingerprinted and provided them a retina scan. While she waited for a laminated ID badge, Dr. Spielman explained the need for security.
“This is probably the most secretive government installation in the world. To begin with, and you probably didn’t notice because the descent was very slight, but during the three-mile walk through the tunnel, you dropped more than a thousand feet below ground.”
“I thought I was in The Twilight Zone,” interrupted Mac. “It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic.”
“I remember, I was brought in the same way,” said Dr. Spielman. “Whenever you leave the Den, which is the nickname for the facility underneath Denver’s Stapleton Airport, you’ll take different tunnels and exits. Security tries to mix things up so people on the surface don’t establish a pattern.”
Mac continued to look around in amazement. “When do I get to leave the Den?”
“Excuse me, Dr. Hagan,” the receptionist politely interrupted before Dr. Spielman answered. “Here is your ID and a welcome packet. Everything you need to know about the facility is enclosed as well as your room assignment and keycard. Dr. Spielman, will you instruct Dr. Hagan on security protocols, including the use of the biometric and retina scan locks?”
“I will, thank you,” he replied. Dr. Spielman gestured for Mac to follow him and the two began to walk around the perimeter of the upper floor. He continued. “First, let me say this. I’m as anxious as you are to discuss your findings and check out what’s in that case you’re cradling like a baby. But here’s what we learned right away after our arrival—the government is just as infuriatingly slow and deliberate here as it was in the so-called good old days. Although resources are surprisingly vast considering the world as we know it has ended, we do have our limitations when it comes to the activities of the CDC.”
“Dr. Spielman, I’m amazed this even exists,” added Mac. “How did they keep it a secret?”
Dr. Spielman chuckled as he led her toward an elevator. “Well, they didn’t do such a great job, but in typical government fashion, together with a willing media, they covered it up. Trust me, conspiracy theories abound, even within the present occupants. Here’s what I know.”
The elevator arrived and they stepped in. Mac noticed the numbers descended from 1 at the top to 16 at the bottom. “See, this is bizarre. I take it we’re on the first floor, but if we want to go to the bottom floor, we go up to floor sixteen, um, I mean down to floor sixteen, right?”
“Exactly.” Dr. Spielman laughed. “Let me show you to your room and we’ll get your things put away. Then I’ll take you around and you can see the amenities.”
As the elevator dropped, Mac processed what she’d heard so far. She then began to realize nobody knew where she was, a very uncomfortable feeling.
Ding! Ding! Level 6. A computerized voice announced their arrival.
“Here we are,” said Dr. Spielman. “All of our co-workers are house
d on this floor.”
“Couldn’t they have chosen a better floor than level 6?”
Dr. Spielman led the way out of the elevator and they turned to the left. He ignored her question for a moment and then said, “Why’s that?” He didn’t look at Mac, choosing to nonchalantly peer over the railing as they ambled down the walkway.
She wasn’t sure how to interpret his reaction. Does he not know about the Level 6 order? Is he pretending not to know?
There was an awkward silence between them until they reached her room, which spoke volumes to Mac. Her first inclination was to look around the ceilings and walls for cameras and microphones. This whole thing, the Den, as they called it, smacked of something out of George Orwell’s 1984, and suddenly, she didn’t like it.
“Okay,” started Dr. Spielman. “Here’s our first opportunity to use the advanced security system to gain access to parts of the complex. Your ID badge operates like money within the facility, which is odd because everything is free. In any event, when you make purchases in the commissary or eat in the various restaurants, you’ll scan your ID. Movies, the video game corral, and the health club also require your ID badge to be scanned.
“To enter secured areas for which you’ve been provided clearance, such as your room and the CDC facilities on the floor above us, you’ll use a combination of this retina scan and the fingerprint scanner below it. You must do both simultaneously to activate the lock mechanism. Go ahead, give it a try.”
Mac leaned into the retina viewer and adjusted her head to fit her eyes within the rubber cups. Then she felt around the wall and found a similar device to insert her index finger. She pressed the glass with the tip of her finger and the sound of locks popping indicated she was successful in gaining entry.
“Very good, Mac. It takes a few times to get coordinated so that you don’t look like a newbie. We’ve all gone through it.”
