The Beginning of the End (Book 1): Toward the Brink (12 page)

The Secretary of Defense left the Oval Office with the Joint Chiefs in tow. He had a job in front of him.

“I do agree that we need to study one of these people that are afflicted with whatever illness it is. I’m going to assign a SEAL team to you, Mr. Flint, and CDC of course, to better facilitate that goal. I want the rest of you to implement security and evacuation measures as mentioned by Mr. Holmes previously. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

As everyone rose and began to leave, the President added, “Let there be no leaks whatsoever of this meeting, gentlemen. I will have no hesitation in pursuing charges of treason if there is!”

Just over thirty minutes later in a soundproof room in the rear of an average Washington, D.C. diner, Mr. Holmes met with his contact from the Chamber.

“So all went well then?” the contact asked.

“Yes, better than could be expected I think,” Holmes said.

“Be careful with expectations, Holmes. They lead to disappointment.”

Holmes changed the subject; he didn’t want a philosophical discussion. He instead informed the man from the Chamber of the pictures he’d seen of Boise and the continued lack of communications.

“Good, very good,” the man said, nodding in approval. “Now, tell me why there are no communications coming out of Idaho again.”

Holmes explained that, in his belief, the sickness had become so widespread that it was simply a case of no one being around to communicate with, and that also meant no maintenance was able to be performed either. “Soon, the power grid itself will shut down, and that means no Internet, which is running to a limited degree at the moment.”

“Delightful news, Holmes. You’ve done well. I think I made the right decision when I sponsored you into the Chamber.” Holmes’ contact reached down into an expensive leather bag and brought out a bottle of Chivas Regal Royal Salute and two shot glasses. “You will join me for a drink, won’t you?”

“Of course, sir.” This is what it was about, why he’d pledged his allegiance to the Chamber and his commitment to the realization of the ten guidelines as found inscribed on the Georgia Guidestones. This simple act of taking a drink from a ten-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch signified his full membership with the Chamber and his inclusion in the group of survivors that would rule the new Earth after the clean-out had been completed.

“Who would have thought we could make this happen just from fucking potatoes?”

“Glad you had some coffee in here.” Mulhaven said.

Elliot stood by the front window of the store. It was early morning; the sun was starting to rise. Elliot didn’t know if anyone had slept or not. If they were like him, they hadn’t. It had been a night of strange, almost primeval sounds, the occasional noise of a National Guard Hummer in the distance and the howls of frightened men. Rifle, shotgun and heavy automatic fire interspersed with the more primitive sounds. Everyone did a good job of concealing their fear but for how much longer. In less than twenty-four hours the whole world they once knew had collapsed—totally disappeared. And now their only concern was survival. Like a hunted animal pursued by hounds—that was their priority now.

No lights were on inside the store, affording Elliot to watch the street without any concern of attracting unwanted attention.

“Yeah, it’s funny. Dad and I hated this coffee when we moved in. We bought this quick, y’know, ‘cause we needed some coffee to get through. Right now this is the best cup I’ve ever had.”

“I know what you mean, Elliot. I know what you mean.”

“Do you think anyone could have survived the crash last night?”

“No.”

“We better make preparations. We can’t stay in the city any longer.”

“Where will we go?”

“Elliot, we could go to Shoshone.”

“Huh?” Elliot turned around as Allan joined in the discussion.

“Well, you remember when you told Roger and I about the illness and that your mom had seen it firsthand?”

“Yeah, down at the fast food place, right?”

“Yes, not long after that Roger did get sick and was taken to the medical center. He did all the throwing up of the green shit just like you said. Anyway, when he got out he not only swore off fries and all potato products but fast food and meat as well. He became a fucking vegetarian, can you believe it?”

“Roger? No way, not a chance, man!”

“It’s true I tell you it’s …”

“Excuse me, but let’s get back to why we should head to Shoshone, can we?”

“Ahh yeah sure, sorry.” Allan looked a little embarrassed. The truth was that Mulhaven intimidated him; all authority figures did. “Roger has relations there that have an organic farm. He moved there and began working with them. They were glad to have him too; his knowledge with computers was far better and that increased their distribution. It would just seem a logical place to go at least at the start, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, I think we are going to have to get further away than that but it’s a good a place as any for now. Let’s do it!”

Mulhaven’s approval of Allan’s plan put a smile on the young man’s face. It was nice to be acknowledged.

“Now speaking of computers, let me check this thing again.”

Allan moved over a little closer to Elliot, the way conspirators do, while he watched Mulhaven head toward the back room. “Do you know he’s the spitting image of Morgan Freeman?”

“Yes I do, but don’t say anything okay?”

“Why, I don’t mean any harm by it.”

“He likes to think he looks like B.B. King!”

“What are you two laughing about?” Cindy entered the front room of the store.

“Shhh!” Elliot and Allan both pressed index fingers to their lips.

“Have you spoken with your parents in the last day or so, Allan?” Cindy asked.

“No, I haven’t. They went on a holiday to Vancouver. Why?”

“Okay I got something.” Mulhaven called from the rear of the store, saving Elliot and Cindy from having to explain. “Come quick.”

“What have you got?” Elliot asked.

They gathered behind Mulhaven who sat at the desk looking at the monitor.

“I went looking for some news sites first. National news, but here’s what I found: ‘Due to a technical difficulty with new communication lines there has been a temporary loss of communication with most of Idaho.’ It then lists the counties that are not receiving any communication by either radio or telephone, which is practically all of Idaho. This is crazy!”

“What? Communication lines? Why would they say that?” Allan asked.

“There’s no new lines going in anywhere in Idaho that would cause that much disruption, is there?”

“No, of course not, Cindy, they’re hiding the real story.”

“But why, why would they do that. We need help here!”

“They want to prevent the news of what’s happening here from spreading across the country. Which makes sense; a panic could be worse than the disease. The few have to suffer for the benefit of the many.”

“So they’re expecting the disease to spread, or know that it’s only a matter of time before it does.”

“Precisely.” Mulhaven grabbed the mouse and clicked a few times. Once he got to Google, he then keyed in a new search.

“What are you looking for?” Elliot asked.

“The website of the group that organized the demonstration yesterday.”

The search took some time; the screen fluttered before it finally came up.

“There!” Mulhaven said.

“There are the dates for the march and some up …”

The monitor went black and the whirring sound of the fan inside the tower case subsided. The old dog could run no more.

“What happened?” Cindy asked.

“How old is this?” Mulhaven asked Elliot.

“About two years. It’s strictly used for business and Internet so it’s in top condition.”

“Try the light switch, Allan.” Allan did as Mulhaven had asked but when he flicked the switch—nothing happened.

“That explains it. The power has gone.”

The four looked around at each other. The situation was getting worse by the hour.

“Listen!” Cindy said. “A car! I can hear a car coming!”

They all moved as one, back into the front of the store, Elliot and Mulhaven naturally going toward the window.

“Be careful. Could be a Guard patrol.” Mulhaven said.

“What would be wrong with that. Couldn’t they help?” Allan asked.

“Maybe, maybe not. They’re involved in the evacuation but where they are evacuating people to I have no idea. If this disease is still active I don’t want to be in the same area as them—know what I mean?”

“Ah yeah, never thought of it that way.”

“It’s not the Guard. It’s an old beat-up Saturn. Two men inside.” Elliot called out. “It’s stopping at the front of the store.”

# # #

“Not that it’s going to matter all that much, but just so you know,” Holmes said to the Director of the CDC, “the CIA probably knows about our meeting.”

The two conspirators met the day after the Oval Office meeting with the President and the inner cabinet. Holmes figured there was little need for secrecy anymore, all things considered, and met Flint in the open at the Lincoln Memorial on the National Mall.

“Why doesn’t it matter?” Flint, always a nervous type, appeared more so after having lied to the President.

“What are you going to do with this SEAL team assigned to CDC?” Holmes ignored his question.

“I don’t have much choice. I’m under directives from the President.”

“I know that, but where do you intend to send them and what do you believe can be found from any examination of any of these ‘infected persons,’ as the President liked to call them?”

“No examination is going to find a cause of their behavior or find a cure. Most will exist for a week, two at the latest, before succumbing to the botulism introduced into the ‘improved’ growth hormone.”

“Okay, then send your team of super soldiers in and grab one for analysis. Make it look good—but keep them on the ground a little longer. We’ll need to know the percentage of those affected and what resistance is taking place. So make sure I see their report before you hand it over to the special committee, okay?”

# # #

Two men got out of the Saturn. The passenger was of average height. Tufts of grey hair jutted out from beneath the cap he wore. The driver was much taller and younger. He was far better dressed in a black suit, but no tie. The ruffled suit attested to a night of sleep—or attempted sleep—in the small car.

“The tall one’s carrying.” Mulhaven whispered.

“How can you tell?” Elliot was at the other end of the front window just within hearing distance.

“The bulge under his left shoulder.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What are we going to do?” Allan was standing behind a rack of shirts in the middle of the store, but he heard the discussion up by the window.

“Shhh!” Mulhaven and Elliot hissed.

“Is anybody in there?” one of the two men outside asked after rapping on the front door three times.

Mulhaven stuck an open palm up to Elliot, hoping he would understand his signal.

“What do you want?” Mulhaven yelled.

There was no answer right away. That told Mulhaven they didn’t expect anyone to be here.

“We’re looking for some help.”

“Looks like you got some help right there under your arm, son.”

“Well, I’m sure you know what’s been going on out here so you’ll understand why I need it.” The Tall Man said. He had stepped back from the front door so whoever was inside could see him.

“Are you the owner or the cop who belongs to that SUV out here?”

Very smart and very observant. This guy has agency written all over him
, Mulhaven thought.

“Okay, so what kind of help do you need?” Mulhaven continued, pleased that none of the others had joined in the conversation. As good as Elliot had proven himself to be—and there was no question about Cindy’s resolve—they still sounded like teenagers when they opened their mouths.

“Canned food, jerky, powdered milk, blankets, clothing … I can pay for it, but I have a feeling money may not be worth much anymore.”

Mulhaven gave Elliot a “what do you think?” look, and got a shrug of the shoulders for a reply.

“All right, but I’ll be watching closely.”

“Thank you, and I understand. We had to fight off looters ourselves yesterday.”

The front door opened with a rush. Mulhaven stood in the doorway, his hand resting on the butt of his holstered Sig Sauer.

“Come on in.” Mulhaven backed away from the door into the interior of the store. The Tall Man entered first followed by his older companion, who showed manners by removing his cap as he entered. The Tall Man was aware of the presence of others before his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the store—one give-away was that the door didn’t fly open by itself.

“You got yourself a nice little set up here. Where’s the owner?”

“I’m the owner.” Elliot slammed the door shut and locked it.

The Tall Man in a way was like Mulhaven; he didn’t judge by age but by action. When he heard Elliot’s young voice from behind he didn’t assume anything, and when he turned slowly he saw a man of strong belief and action. He was reminded of himself when he was young before he allowed the devil got hold of him. The devil known as greed.

“I figure you’re Elliot then?” the Tall Man said.

“What … how the hell did you know that?”

“Yeah, was’sup, mister, you been spyin’ ‘round here?” Mulhaven put on his best uneducated inner city dweller’s act. It probably wouldn’t fool the likes of this man, and wearing a police sergeant’s uniform didn’t help.

“Ah, no, not at all. The sign on the front says, ‘James and Elliot Goodwin’ and the usual thing is that the older brother or father has their name first, and I doubt you’re the older one. Just simple applied logic is all.”

“I’m Elliot. James is my father but, the question is, who are you driving around the streets at this hour of the morning dressed like you’re about to go to a business meeting—with a gun under your arm?”

“Yeah, what kind of business are you in, mister, er …?” Mulhaven added.

“Black, Charles Black. You can call me Chuck.”