The Viral Epiphany (32 page)

Charles thought about the next phase of his plans for the country while he finished his cereal.
 
He would divide the country into two basic types of areas: green or safe zones and red, unsafe zones.
 
The red zones would be those where an incidence of the disease had occurred.
 
He would then create buffer zones or quarantine zones around the red zones.
 
A procedure would then be created whereby low risk people in red zones could migrate to green zones after spending an appropriate amount of time in the quarantine zone.
 
A corresponding process would also be created to move people deemed to be high risk from the green zones to the red zones.
 
These people would obviously bypass the quarantine zones.
 
Yes, that’ll work,
he said to himself.
 
The question is where do we start?
 
New York City? Maybe…sure…why not?

He started a pot of coffee, and a few minutes later, holding a cup of steaming hot Maxwell House in his hand, he walked into the control room and sat at the main console.
 
All of the equipment was still running from last night, but, like the kitchen and the dining area, there was no one else there but him.

He switched the television screen to the East-West News channel and watched the images flow across the screen as the reporter described the scenes:

“Here is some amazing footage of a huge explosion in Boston.
 
It looks like the gas storage facility has blown up, and the flames must be two hundred feet high!
 
It’s much like the facility explosion we just saw in Chicago…
 
Here’s a clip we just received from our affiliate in Los Angeles.”
The commentator paused as the footage showed flames towering over the city’s silhouette
.
 
“There’s no other way to put it – Los Angeles is burning.
 
These scenes we are watching have been repeated over and over again during the night as the country has reacted in violent protest to the Draconian locality card measures imposed by UNAPS yesterday.”

The reporter stopped talking and held her earpiece more tightly to her ear.
 
“
I’m sorry. We are just getting fresh reports from San Antonio where a major firefight has been underway between U.S. Army troops and civilians.
 
It’s being reported that there are heavy casualties on both sides.
 
The civilians are apparently heavily armed with assault rifles, shotguns, semi-automatic pistols, and many other types of guns.
 
There are even reports of civilian forces launching rockets at the soldiers, although these reports have not been confirmed.”

“What?” Charles shouted angrily, although there was no one there to hear him. He changed the channel to another station, but the pictures were the same.
 
All channels were carrying the same story.
 
America was in rebellion.

“We interrupt our coverage to bring you an important announcement from Admiral Walter Mason, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

Admiral Mason, wearing his full dress uniform, appeared on the screen.
 
“
My fellow citizens, I have an extremely important announcement for everyone. As of this moment, all prior edicts and orders issued by UNAPS or Mr. Charles Goodfellow are hereby cancelled!
 
The requirement to carry locality cards is revoked. A warrant has just been issued for the immediate arrest of Mr. Goodfellow.
 
Rest assured he will be brought to justice!

All citizens are now free to resume normal activities.
 
I have ordered all U.S. troops to cease firing and to return to their bases immediately. Our cities are being destroyed by senseless acts of violence and civil warfare while we still face a real danger from Asian Fever.
  
I ask you to put down your weapons and return to your homes.
 

At this time I have not been able to contact our civilian leaders and therefore, until our civilian leadership is able to reassert itself, and, I believe in accordance with the Constitution of our country, I am now in charge.
 
I will be speaking with you in the near future, until then, once again, please cease firing and return to your homes. Take care and God bless.”

Charles turned off the television and looked around in panic.
 
Under arrest?
 
Me? No! - I can’t let that happen!
 
Not now – they’re not going to put me in some filthy prison with this disease everywhere! That would be a death sentence! I know…

He stood up and quickly crossed the room to the facility access control panel. The panel showed the status of the identity card readers, the glass entry doors, and the metallic blast doors.
 
These huge, solid steel doors were designed and built to withstand the force of a nuclear explosion, and when they were closed, the entrance to the bunker was protected by an impenetrable shield.
 
The two massive doors were each twenty feet high, twenty feet wide and two feet thick. Installed in 1959, and tested once a year ever since, they moved on a heavy-duty railroad track with two diesel locomotive engines powering the closing mechanism.

Charles quickly pushed the button labeled
Blast Doors - Close.
 
A warning claxon immediately sounded and a loud grinding noise could be heard coming from the entrance.
 
He ran towards the door and looked out at the parking lot, but there was no one there.
 
He stood and watched as the doors slowly moved along the rails.
 
He could hear the generators revving up as the wheels began to incur resistance, perhaps from rust, perhaps from some accumulated misalignment of the rails.
 
The door motion slowed slightly and Charles became anxious as they continued to slow, and then they stopped.
 
They weren’t even halfway closed.
 
Suddenly, the resistance vanished and the doors began moving again, this time more quickly.
 
A minute later they had closed tightly shut.
 
It was the first time they had been closed in twenty years because, although an annual closing test was on the list of scheduled maintenance tasks, the site support contractor had convinced the administrators that there was a risk of damaging the aging system with such a test and the resulting repair costs would have been very expensive.

Charles smiled as the doors clicked shut and the self-locking mechanism engaged. He would be safe here now until President Cranston returned, at which time he would certainly be exonerated or pardoned of any charges of wrongdoing.
 
He walked over to the lounge and turned on the television.
Might as well make myself comfortable now,
he chuckled to himself,
let’s watch Mason try to contend with the situation!
 

No sooner had he sat in the armchair than the lights flickered once and then twice.
 
He looked up at the overhead lights and waited, but nothing happened.
 
Then a moment later the power went off and the facility was plunged into complete blackness.
 
The hair on his arms stood up and his heart began to beat wildly. A second later the lights came on again.
 
He took a deep breath and then he heard a woman’s recorded voice softly announce over the public address system, “
Your attention please.
 
A main power outage has occurred.
 
Battery backup power is now in operation.
 
Battery power will last twenty-four hours.
 
Thank you.”

Charles immediately jumped from his seat and ran to the door control console.
 
“Damn,” he said, “I’d better get those doors open now!”

He pushed the
Blast Doors –Open
button and waited, but nothing happened.
 
He looked up at the computer monitor status indicator and read the message on the screen: ILLEGAL REQUEST – BUTTON INACTIVE DURING BATTERY POWER CONDITIONS.
 
Charles sat down and began to think.
 
Twenty-four hours…what is the chance that someone will get here in the next twenty-fours hours? Maybe I should call someone…but who?

Over the years, as the facility had aged, many cost saving measures had been taken on maintenance related issues, particularly after the Cold War had ended and the probability of nuclear war seemed to be remote.
 
One of the cost saving measures that had been taken was that the routine replacement of the rechargeable batteries had been cancelled. The batteries that were supplying power were over fifteen years old.
 
They supplied the full power requirements for the entire facility for about fifteen minutes, and then the lights began to dim.

What the hell’s going on?
Charles
thought as he looked at the computer display. A minute later the computer abruptly shut down.

“Oh, shit,” he said.

Seconds later the last faint glimmer of light in the bunker vanished, and Charles was alone with only the sound of his breathing.

Thirty-Two

           
The young medical corpsman immediately turned from his patient with the ankle sprain, grabbed an emergency first aid kit, and ran down the passageway to the torpedo room of the
Seawolf
.
 
Less than ten seconds later, he stepped into the torpedo room and then abruptly stopped as he viewed at the scene in front of him in disbelief. One of the sailors was lying on the floor beside his duty station, his head turned sideways at an awkward angle as it rested against the bottom of the equipment console. His unseeing eyes seemed to be looking directly at the corpsman with a mixed expression of incomprehension and fear.
 
Whatever had happened to him had been very swift.
 
His control panel was covered in bright red blood, as was his clothing and shoes. A large puddle of blood had accumulated on the floor beside him.
 
Two other sailors who also worked in the torpedo room were standing immobile several steps away, their faces pale with fear.

           
“Seal the doors,” the corpsman said as he walked in, but the two stunned men didn’t move.
 
Their friend and fellow sailor had seemed fine five minutes ago. Then, without warning he had suddenly collapsed over his controls while blood started pumping from his mouth and nose. There were even trickles of blood coming from his ears and the corners of his eyes.
 
He had never said a word.

           
“Seal the doors!” the corpsman shouted again at the two sailors.
 
It was then, as they both realized the implications of the situation that horror replaced the fear that had been on their faces.
 
The corpsman could see that they wanted nothing more than to run away, but that, of course, was one of the disadvantages of life on a submarine.
 
There was no place to run.
 
He turned around and closed the watertight door behind him and locked it. Then he motioned to them to do the same to the door behind them. “There’s no place to go, men,” he said softly, “You might as well close that door.
 
I’ll call the Captain.”
 
He saw a look of resignation pass over their faces, “Go ahead,” he said, “close it and lock it.”

           
The two sailors did as they were told and then turned back to face the corpsman who had now put on a communications headset. “Captain, torpedo room on comm. net three.
 
Captain, torpedo room, comm. net three.”

           
Seconds later the corpsman heard the captain’s voice in his headset, “Go ahead, this is the Captain.”

           
“Sir, Corpsman Daniels speaking, we have a dead sailor in the torpedo room.
 
There’s blood everywhere.”

           
“What happened?”

           
“There’s no sign of any injury. I suspect Asian Fever, sir.
 
I’ve closed the watertight doors to the compartment, but I don’t think it will do much to prevent the spread of the disease on the boat.”

           
“Understand,” the Captain replied and then he slowly took off the headset and set it on the console. He closed his eyes and rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger for a few seconds; then he looked up.
 
The crewmen were looking at him expectantly.

           
“Carry on, men.” He said, with no further explanation. He left the control room, walked down the passageway to the President’s stateroom and knocked on the door.
 
Seconds later the President opened it.