Pandemic (39 page)

The chief of staff scurried off.

Blackmon put her shoulders back and her chest out — more true leader than pure politician.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if we don’t act
now
, we are quite possibly facing a worst-case scenario. The nation is counting on us.”

Murray started dialing: he had much do and little time in which to do it.

Jeff lifted his head from the pillow. “Dude, is that the president? Get that Republicunt off the TV, will you?”

Cooper nodded. His head felt heavy, full of the same goop that he blew out of his nose every five minutes.

He used the remote to change the hotel TV’s channel, from Channel 3 to Channel 4 — and there, again, was President Blackmon. Channel 5: Blackmon. Channel 6: Blackmon.

“She’s on all the big networks,” Cooper said. He tried ESPN, only to find the same thing. “Holy shit, dude — she’s on
all
the channels.”

“She’s a stinky, hate-filled, nasty—”

“Hold on a sec,” Cooper said. “This has to be something big.”

Jeff propped himself up on one elbow to watch.

“I already feel like a bag of assholes,” he said. “And now this? I hope it’s not another Detroit. Hey, Coop, you feel sick?”

Cooper gestured to the pile of Kleenex on the little lampstand next to his bed. “Yeah. I do.” He pressed the “volume” button.

“… an unprecedented threat upon our great nation, and one that requires unprecedented action. My fellow Americans, we are mobilizing a swift and thorough response. I am in constant contact with the world’s leaders. Every nation on earth is working together to win this battle.”

The camera angle shifted, panning across a half-bowl of applauding politicians. Was that Congress? Cooper could never remember if that was the House, the Senate, or if they all met in some special room for things like this. What he did know was all the politicians looked the same: rich fuckers who raped the system, the only differences between them being ties and dresses of red or blue.

A news ticker ran across the bottom of the screen:

… INFECTIOUS AGENT THAT RESULTED IN THE DETROIT DISASTER IDENTIFIED … SCIENTISTS HAVE DISCOVERED WAY TO INOCULATE AGAINST THE INFECTION … PRESIDENT BLACKMON
CLAIMS “DISEASE WILL BE WIPED FROM THE FACE OF THE EARTH” …

“Holy shit,” Cooper said. “It is another Detroit.”

Jeff flopped his head back into the pillow. “Told ya. Holler if they say
Chicago —
otherwise, I don’t give a shit. I’m going back to sleep. I feel like I got face-fucked by a rabid buffalo.”

The applause died down. Blackmon continued.

“Even as I speak to you now, factories all over America are collaborating in the largest unified manufacturing initiative since World War II. Distributors, shipping companies and grocery store chains are all cooperating with FEMA to bring you the medicine that will keep you safe. Over five hundred corporate sponsors have signed up to fund this initiative. More join the cause every hour. We are faced with a challenge to not only our country, but to every person on our planet. With God’s help, America is taking the lead to protect the human race.”

The audience cheered again, louder this time. At least some of them did. Cooper didn’t follow politics, but it looked like only the Republicans were standing. The still-seated Democrats applauded politely.

Cooper looked at Jeff. “Protect the human race? Is this even bigger than Detroit?”

Jeff shrugged. He didn’t seem to notice the yellow bit of snot dangling from his nose.

The applause faded. Politicians sat back down. Blackmon continued.

“I can’t stress this enough,” she said. “The surgeon general and the Centers for Disease Control urge you to cooperate with local distribution centers to get the treatment. The emergency broadcast system will be transmitting delivery days and locations. There
will
be enough for everyone. Until you receive your medication, limit contact with others and stay indoors as much as possible.”

Blackmon made a fist and banged it once on the podium. “All the naysayers who claimed that American manufacturing was dead are about to see how wrong they were. Other nations are following our lead, producing their own medicine, and what they are producing began
here
. American ingenuity is gone? I … don’t …
think so
.”

The Republicans stood. They roared their approval. Some of the Democrats begrudgingly stood as well.

Jeff let out a huff. “So the world is in danger, and she turns it into a campaign speech. This from a woman who doesn’t want universal health care? Whatever.”

Blackmon held up both hands, gave the crowd her trademark half-smile. She looked confident and excited, but not too much of either. The applause died down again.

“Let me say I do not fault my predecessor, or his party, for allowing things to come to this point,” she said. “These are exceptional times not only in the history of our nation, but also of the world. Together, we will forever end the greatest threat the planet Earth has ever faced.”

“Man, she’s good,” Cooper said. “Something new is happening and she still manages to imply that Gutierrez opened up Pandora’s box in the first place.”

“She’s been president for two years,” Jeff said. “Whatever happens now is on her.”

“Yeah, right.
Four
years into Gutierrez’s term, you were still blaming his Republican predecessor for the crappy economy. Give me a break, Jeff — with you, the Republicans are always at fault and the Democrats never do anything wrong.”

Jeff raised a hand, gave a thumbs-up. “Now you’re understanding how things work, bro. Turn that thing off.”

Turn it off? There was some kind of world-shaking shit going down, and Jeff wanted to nap?

On the TV, Blackmon grew more serious. More solemn. “Now, I must show you some very disturbing footage. This footage underscores the reason we must all work together in this inoculation effort. This is footage from—”

“Coop!”

Cooper jumped; Jeff had screamed the word. Cooper turned.

Jeff propped himself up on one elbow. “I told you to
turn it off
. You trying to fuck with me or something?”

His lip curled up, like it was all he could do to not stand up and smash Cooper’s head into the TV. Cooper didn’t know what to say.

Blackmon continued to babble, but Cooper wasn’t paying any attention. He used the remote to turn the TV off. “Dude, just take it easy, okay?”

Jeff’s lip returned to normal. He blinked a few times. The hate left his eyes.

“Oh, wow, man,” he said. “Sorry about that. This bug has me in a shit-ass mood, I guess.”

Cooper shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.” He felt a wave of relief — for a second, he’d thought his best friend was going to get out of that bed and come at him.

Jeff rubbed at his face. “No, it’s not okay. I can’t talk to you like that. Sorry.” He looked up and forced a smile. “So that shit they were talking about on TV, that medicine. When do we have to take whatever it is they’re passing out?”

“I don’t know,” Cooper said. “You want me to turn the TV back on?”

“No. Whatever it is, it’s not going to be here in the next six hours. I’m going to get some more sleep. Really awesome vacation in the Windy City, eh?”

“My kind of town. Old Blue Eyes was full of shit, if you ask me.”

Jeff laughed, which quickly turned into a heavy, ripping cough that curled his body into a fetal position. Cooper plucked a pair of Kleenex from the box and offered them. Jeff had his left hand over his mouth, but reached out with his right to take the tissues. He pressed them to his mouth as the cough racked him again. He rolled to his back.

“Aw,
fuck
, Coop — that shit hurts.”

Jeff pulled the Kleenex away from his mouth and looked at it. Amid a glob of greenish-yellow were bright streaks of red.

“Dude,” Cooper said, “that’s not good.”

Jeff balled up the Kleenex and tossed it away. He waved a hand as if brushing away Cooper’s thoughts.

“Ain’t the first time I’ve coughed up a little blood, bro. Don’t worry about it.” He rolled to his side, rested his head on the pillow. “I’m going back to sleep. Turn off the lights, man. If you make any more noise, I’m going to hurt you.”

Cooper froze. Was Jeff joking, or threatening? It didn’t sound like a joke. Cooper stared for a moment, once again suddenly aware of the size difference between them. Jeff was bigger, stronger … and Jeff knew how to fight.

Cooper slowly reclined on the bed, careful not to make too much noise. Maybe he didn’t feel like he’d been face-fucked by a rabid buffalo, but he sure as hell didn’t feel like singing and dancing, either. He was exhausted; sleep would be good.

And maybe when he woke up, Jeff would be back to normal.

Paulius Klimas sat at the SPA’s conference table. He stared at a blank screen, waiting for a call. Once the call began, he’d get one minute. Even that much was a blessing, a courtesy done for him by Murray Longworth.

Paulius had lost men before. Five so far, all on missions that had never been announced, never been recorded. Every one of those deaths had been hard. Each time he’d questioned his leadership abilities, wondered if he could have done something different to bring that man home alive.

But this was the hardest of all.

Longworth had needed a volunteer. Since Levinson couldn’t fight, Paulius gave the man first dibs. Levinson understood that if he didn’t go, another SEAL would go in his place.

So Levinson had accepted.

Now, Paulius was about to hear the results.

The screen flared to life. He found himself looking at Levinson: in a hospital bed surrounded by clear glass walls, but bright-eyed and smiling.

“Commander,” Levinson said. He saluted.

Paulius returned the salute. Some of his pent-up stress bled away.

“You look good for a lab animal,” Paulius said. “What have they told you?”

“Looks like that awful crap Doctor Feelygood brewed actually works. I’m eighteen hours in. If I was infected, I’d probably have a sore throat, fever and aches, but I feel fine. Other than where I was shot, I mean. That still hurts like a bitch. They said painkillers could mask infection symptoms, so this little piggy gets none.”

More of the stress eased. Paulius hadn’t realized he’d carried the pressure in his chest — it suddenly felt much easier to breathe. Levinson seemed fine. More than that, the mission to recover Feely, Montoya and their research had turned out to be critical after all.

Even though the infection had somehow escaped the task force, he and his men had made a difference.

The screen beeped: time was up.

Paulius saluted. “Your courage is immeasurable, Roger. If you don’t turn into a plant, drinks are on me.”

The wounded man returned the salute. “As long as it’s something besides what Feelygood makes, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

The image blinked out.

Paulius stared at the blank screen. He and his men had twelve more days of quarantine, as did Feely, Otto, Montoya and the
Coronado
’s crew. He’d given his men a few hard-earned days off, but no more — it was time to start combat drills.

He and his SEALs were immune. If the shit hit the fan, they might be called upon once again.

They would be ready.

@DrDurakMerc

Don’t be a sheeple! Trust the government to give you your shots? Then you get what you deserve.

@ARealGirl

What the fuck is wrong with you anti-vaxers? This disease turns people into MURDERERS. Drink the fucking inoculant already, or you’ll kill us all.

@TwistahSistahBB5

I don’t get this hostility — if you want to take their drugs, take them, if I don’t want to, that’s my choice! It’s a Big Pharma trick.

@BadAstronomer

Hey, antivaxers, heard of a thing called “the news”? You know, those fancy moving pictures that keep showing what happened on the
Brashear
? #TakeTheMeds

@BootyHooty912

You don’t want to drink your gunk? Shit, dawg, give it here — I’ll put it next to my Glock, which you’ll see again when you change.

She had to find a way to control the men.

Margaret sat with her back against the mission module’s thin, metal wall, her thighs parallel to the ground, her feet on the floor — the
chair position
. Her thighs burned. A fight was coming: she needed to be strong.

At the count of one hundred, she bent forward, extended her body and started doing push-ups.

One … two … three … four …

Math. The most basic language of the galaxy. The language created by God. Not the human god, or gods, but the
real
god.

Sixteen … seventeen … eighteen …

If the men on this ship had converted, she knew she would have been able to control them. They would have followed her, did whatever she said; God had made it that way. But the men weren’t converted — they were merely human.

Human, yes, but trained killers. Dangerous.

Thirty-four … thirty-five … thirty-six …

She was smarter than they were. She could find a way to make them do what she wanted. If she started now, when the right time came she could play them against each other. Or, at least, she could stay alive long enough to find her own kind.

Fifty-nine … sixty … sixty-one …

Her arms and chest burned. She ignored the pain. Years spent hiding away had made her soft. She needed to make her body
hard
.

Clarence would be the easiest to manipulate. She knew what motivated him — the simple sentiment of a soon-to-be extinct species: he
loved
.

One hundred two … one hundred three … one hundred four …

EXCERPT FROM THE WEBSITE “BEYOND TOP SECRET”

By SmrtEnough2See

For decades the government has been the pawn of Big Pharma, funneling billions of taxpayer dollars to companies that produce improperly tested drugs and vaccines. And now that same government is telling you that you
must
take this new “inoculant” drug for the mysterious “alien infection”? An infection that has not been proven to exist? And a drug that has not been properly tested, even by the rubber-stamping Big Pharma pawn known as the FDA?