Plague of the Dead (5 page)

    “Could the CDC or USAMRIID have sent teams in to contain the disease in its early phases?” Julie asked.

    “We could, and we should have,” Anna said, folding her hands. “We didn’t, simply because the disease was too new and mysterious to accurately judge the threat it presented. If we had sent a team in without a full bank of knowledge, a team member could have become infected and brought the disease home with him or her. Now that we know how it’s transmitted, we can better deal with it.”

    “And how does Morningstar spread from host to host, Colonel?” Julie asked.

    “Well, it’s not airborne. Viruses like influenza tend to be airborne-that is, you can spread them by coughing or breathing on someone. We should thank God or luck or whatever we believe in for that. Morningstar is transmitted through bodily fluids. We have examined cadavers and found that there is a high concentration of virus in the saliva of carriers, as well as in seminal and vaginal fluids. Then, of course, there’s blood.”

    “So you’re saying a person could contract the disease through any contact with infected fluid?” Julie asked.

    “Not through
any contact
. Theoretically, you could put your hand in infected blood, and providing you have no cuts or breaks in your skin, you could wash it off and be fine. But most people who come into contact with contaminated material don’t take the threat seriously enough and either fail to sterilize their skin thoroughly or assume water will do the trick. Then they might rub their eyes, or even pick their nose, and contract the disease.”

    “One final question,” Julie said, pulling a fresh sheet of notes.

    “Okay,” replied Anna, leaning forward slightly.

    “Do you believe there is a significant risk of Morningstar outbreaks in the United States?”

    At this, Anna halted. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but held back. Her eyes flicked to the side and hovered there a moment before darting back to the camera.

    “No, Julie,” Anna said. Her voice was heavy and subdued. “I don’t think we have any reason to worry.”

    “Well, thanks for joining us, Colonel.”

    “My pleasure.”

    “That was Lieutenant Colonel Anna Demilio from the US Army’s Medical Research Division. After a word from our sponsors, we’ll return with more breaking news from the front lines of the war on Morningstar. This is Julie Ortiz. Thanks for watching Channel Thirteen news!”

    The cameraman held up a finger, signaling Julie to wait. She sat patiently, a smile on her face, until he dropped the finger.

    “…And we’re off the air!” he said, letting the camera sag on its base. He pulled the headset from his ear and grinned. “Nice broadcast, Julie!”

    But Julie Ortiz wasn’t listening. She glared up at the control booth over the studio floor.

    “What the hell was that bullshit, Jim?!” she demanded, standing up from behind her desk.

    “That bullshit was exactly what the people needed to hear, Julie,” said the station supervisor through the intercom.

    “And that last question-the one about outbreaks in the US-that doctor’s answer was so blatantly false I don’t know how I can find the guts to even call myself a journalist after airing it!”

    “That’s enough, Julie! We air what the Feds tell us to air! We’re in a crisis here! The last thing we need is rebelling anchorwomen messing with the flow of information!”

    “You know what, Jim?” said Julie. “Air
this
.”

    She flipped him off.

    “You’re on thin ice, Julie,” the supervisor replied. “Sit down, smile, look pretty, or go find yourself another job.”

    Grumbling to herself, Julie sank slowly back into her chair.

    “I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” she said.

    The cameraman looked sympathetic. “Don’t worry. The Feds know what they’re doing. They’re probably already getting it under control over there.”

    Julie grimaced. “You know, I’d really love to think that.”

Suez

December 31, 2006

2043 hrs_

    A steady stream of ferries worked their way across the Suez Canal, bearing loads of terrified refugees and rear-guard soldiers.

    The evacuation was taking place as scheduled. General Francis Sherman took a deep pull off his cigar, the coals glowing orange in the darkness. He was almost sixty years old, but was no worse for the wear. General Sherman took pride in passing the same physical fitness tests as eighteen year-old recruits. Now, he was glad for it. He’d been almost two days without sleep and weariness was threatening to overcome him. Before rest, however, came work.

    “How long until the last load crosses the Suez?” he asked, breathing a cloud of smoke.

    “Another day at most, sir,” said Commander Barker, the Naval officer in charge of the transport barges the task force was using to ferry refugees. “We’re not having any problems.”

    “And the bridges?” Sherman asked.

    “Planting the demo charges now, sir,” said Colonel Dewen, US Army. “We’ll be green in thirty. Just give the word and we’ll light ’em up.”

    “We’re not expecting any more traffic from the railway or roads, are we?”

    “Nothing scheduled, sir, but you never know…”

    “Barker, get a few of these ferries up to the El Ferdan crossing and El Qantara. If any civvies show up after we blow the bridges, get ‘em across by boat.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “There’s one snag in the plans, General,” said Sergeant Major Thomas, a scarred veteran of Vietnam, Grenada, and Desert Storm. “These refugees-there are more than we thought. We’re not going to have enough food or shelter for them all.”

    “
Damn it
,” General Sherman said, frowning. “Well, there’s nothing for it, at least for a little while. Distribute what we’ve got, and dispatch a request for more gear.”

    “Right, sir.”

    “Commander, Colonel, come with me, please,” Sherman said, beckoning the two officers to follow him. He led them to a camouflaged pavilion near one of the makeshift docks the Corps of Engineers had built. The pavilion was well lit. A generator hummed nearby. The sounds of the diesel ferry engines, shouting soldiers, and the
whup-whup-whup
of helicopter blades in the sky overhead forced the general to raise his voice slightly to be heard.

    “Gentlemen,” he began, looking down at a laminated map of the area, “We’re in a tactically sound position.”

    He illustrated, pointing down at the thin blue line of the Suez Canal on the map.

    “Here, we’re less than five miles from El Ferdan. That’s the most probable crossing point for civvies we missed. If any of them show up, we’ll be ready to get them across the canal. The tunnel to the south and the crossing farther north will be demo’d, and we’ll leave a small contingent of troops to watch for survivors at each point. The canal itself is our most valuable defensive tool.” General Sherman then folded up the laminated map to reveal a second map underneath. This one covered less ground, and features such as the railway bridge-the longest in the world-were plainly visible on the grid-lined satellite image. He continued, “If we learned anything at Cape Town, it was that carriers don’t like to swim. We’ve got eggheads working on a hypothesis for it as we speak. Personally, I think they just don’t like getting wet. In any case, once the bridges are gone, we’ll have successfully cordoned off the Middle East from infected Africa. Commander, are the Seaguards in position?”

    “Yes, sir. Battle groups are stationed outside every major port on the continent. The Brits have North Africa covered-there’s a task force controlling the Nile delta, another off Tunisia. Germany sent ships a day ago. They’re still en route, but when they arrive, they’ll take up positions in the Strait of Gibraltar and off Morocco. We’ve got Cape Town, Port Elizabeth, Mombasa, and the Congo delta blockaded. The
Reagan
’s battle group is steaming toward the Red Sea, with an ETA of thirty hours.”

    “Good. Let’s hope you Navy boys can keep those ports closed. God only knows what would happen if one-
just one
-contaminated person got in a speedboat and made his way past the barricades to another city port.”

    “And not just the virus, sir,” added Commander Barker. “Remember Cairo.”

    “Yes. There’s a lesson for the historians down the line,” General Sherman said.

    Cairo had been a complete disaster. It was thought originally that the Egyptian city would be the best base of operations for the cleansing and containment of the continent, but panic and disorganization had quickly brought that idea crashing down. Half the city had been consumed in a massive conflagration shortly after soldiers and relief workers began to arrive. Rather than being one of the last bastions of humanity on the continent, it had been one of the first to be fully evacuated. Ironically, there hadn’t been a case of Morningstar within five hundred miles. Cairo had torn itself apart. If similar panic was induced in other cities, the destruction could be just as wanton. Sherman shuddered to think of a massively overpopulated city like Shanghai becoming compromised. More people would die at the hands of their fellow panicked humans than at the hands of the virus itself.

    “As for us, here at Suez, we’ve got a tough job too,” Sherman went on. “We’re the vanguard, gentlemen. This is the only land-based link from Africa to the rest of the world. Gibraltar comes running in a close second, and we’ve got a similar garrison stationed there. Assuming the carriers are brave enough to test the waters and try to swim across, it’ll be our job to hold them at any and all costs.” Here General Sherman paused. The two officers looked up at him expectantly. He went on, “And, gentlemen, I do mean at
any
cost.” The pair nodded. “I just want to make that abundantly clear. If your own child was scratched by one of those things, I would expect you to kill that child without hesitation. If your own dear mother showed up and tried to get you to stop, I’d expect you to kill her before turning back on those carriers. Nothing-and no one-is to interfere with the defense of this canal. The penalty for interference is death. No court-martial. No juries. No trials. You shoot the person or solve the problem, no questions asked. Understand?”

    “Yes, sir,” both echoed in unison.

    “Good,” Sherman said. “Now look here. We’re entrenching along our side of the canal. We’re putting up razor wire along the shore on both sides-that ought to slow them down and let our sharpshooters take ’em out. We’ve got demo boys laying down minefields beyond the wire nets-
early warning
, if you will. There are nine artillery batteries ready to fire to the east of us. If any of your boys spot a group of carriers coming at a distance, call in death from above.”

    Sherman turned his back on the map, facing the canal. A group of refugees was just debarking from one of the ferries. He watched them, puffing on his cigar, before continuing, “We’re working with worst-case scenario situations. Assuming the carriers somehow breach the canal lines and get across the water, we’re setting up two more lines of defense we can fall back on. The Corps of Engineers is setting up a system of trenches two miles east-defense line one. Beyond that is the First Cavalry-defense line two-consisting of fast attack helicopters and Abrams main battle tanks. Defense line two is a last-ditch, all-out assault. If the enemy gets that far, we’re probably already fucked. There are no fences, no wires, no trenches past the canal and line one-just armor and ammo.” General Sherman turned back to the two officers under the pavilion. “But we don’t have to worry about defense lines one and two. Why? Because we’re not letting the damn infection get carried across this canal.”

    The two officers nodded silently. Colonel Dewen’s radio squawked. He mumbled an apology and clicked the handset.

    “Echo Lead, reading.”

    The voice over the radio was slightly garbled, but the words came through clear enough.

    “Sir, Echo Two here. Demo set and primed at El Qantara. Echoes One and Three reporting same, over.”

    “Roger. Hold position and wait for further instructions, over.”

    “Roger that, sir. Echoes One through Three holding for orders. Out.”

    Dewen released the handset and turned to the General.

    “The bridges and tunnel are ready for demo, sir,” he said, grinning slightly.

    “I heard,” said Sherman. “Let the men know we’re about to light up the night.”

    Commander Barker picked up his own radio and began talking, telling his barge captains to hurry under the railway bridge before it came crashing down. Dewen was on the horn ordering troops near the bridges to move away and take cover. The process took a few minutes, but the two officers finished shortly and nodded to Sherman, who took the radio from Dewen.

    “Gentlemen, let’s blow up some bridges,” he said, allowing himself a rare moment of mirth. Barker remained impassive, but Dewen grinned-the man honestly enjoyed explosions. It was one of the reasons he had chosen to become an infantry officer in the first place. Dewen lifted a pair of binoculars from around his neck and raised them to his eyes, looking in the direction of the railway bridge. Even five miles away, the outline of it was distinctly visible in the night.

    Sherman clicked the handset, paging the demo teams.

    “Echo Two here.”

    “Echo Two, this is General Sherman. You are green to go. I repeat, you are green. Give us a count and fire when ready, over.”

    “Yes, sir!” came the reply. In the background of the transmission, Sherman, Barker, and Dewen could hear Echo Two shouting commands to his men before turning his face back to the mouthpiece of the radio. “Charges primed, safeties off, blowing in ten. Nine. Eight. Seven…”

    “Here’s to containment and a carrier-free Middle East,” Dewen said, still looking through his binoculars.

    “… Three, two, one. Mark.”

    The night vanished in a brilliant white-hot flash of light. It lasted no longer than a second, and when it faded, the officers under the pavilion could see the roiling orange and black flames that marked where the world’s longest railway bridge had just been. The light from the flames illuminated flying metal debris shooting high into the sky. Then the noise hit them, a deep, basic rumbling that first shockwaved through the camp, then shook every item that wasn’t bolted down.