“Jessie dear, fetch my bag will you?” asked Dr. July, as he examined his new patient. “Clear the room!” he ordered, as Jessie reentered the room with his black medical bag.
Ian and Shiloh went and washed their hands thoroughly with iodine. Upon emerging from the bathroom, they found Kati almost in tears.
“Is it radiation poisoning?” she asked.
“That’d be my guess,” answered Shiloh. “We’ll know more after the doc examines him.”
“His name is Charlie,” offered Kati, her eyes full of dismay.
“You know him?” asked Ian. “Is he the one who left in search of food but never returned?”
“Yes,” she whispered softly, her eyes swelling with tears. “Is he going to die?”
“Probably,” admitted Lex, re-adjusting the makeshift sling the doc had made for his wounded shoulder.
“Don’t cry Kati,” smiled Ian, “everything will be okay.”
“Not for Charlie,” she sniffled. “All of this death and destruction, I just can’t take it anymore.”
“There, there,” said Ian, wrapping his arm around her shoulder in an effort to comfort her. “Did you lose someone recently? I know many of us have.”
“Yes,” she sobbed, burying her head into Ian’s chest to hide her tears. “I lost my husband and unborn child, both in the same instant.”
“Oh no, I’m so very sorry to hear that,” replied Ian. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“It happened on the day of The Vanishing,” she explained. “I was nine months pregnant at the time and our baby was due any day. I’d gone to bed with my husband but when I woke up the next morning, he was gone and so was my baby. All that remained of my husband were his pajamas lying next to me, right where he’d fallen asleep. And my baby, my baby was gone.”
“Was it a miscarriage?” asked Lex.
“No,” she sobbed. “I went to the hospital and the fetus was just gone. My baby had vanished along with all of the other children.”
“How did you know it was gone?” asked Shiloh.
“I’m a nurse,” she explained, “or rather I was a nurse. I worked in the neurosurgery department at the UCSF hospital in San Francisco. When I realized I was no longer pregnant I went to the hospital and gave myself an ultrasound. Nothing showed up on the monitor. Not to mention the obvious,” she said, pointing at her flat stomach.
“The hospital had power?” asked Lex, momentarily forgetting the gravity of the situation.
“A generator no doubt,” replied Shiloh. “Please continue,” he added, wanting to hear the rest of the story.
“My belly was huge and about to pop the night before everyone vanished,” continued Kati, drying her eyes on her sleeve. She was switching to nurse mode and turning off the emotions that she couldn’t quite process, at least not yet. “But when I woke up the following morning my stomach was alarmingly smaller. I knew there was something seriously wrong before I even opened my eyes. The worse part was I didn’t even have my husband there to share in my grief. I know you probably all think that I’m crazy, but I’m telling the truth.”
“I believe you,” said Ian, trying to reassure her.
“As do I,” agreed Shiloh. “The bodies of my wife and children also vanished that day.”
“So did my parents,” offered Ian.
“What do you mean their bodies vanished?” asked Kati.
“They’d passed away over six months ago and were laid to rest on my ranch,” explained Shiloh. “When I returned a few days ago and dug up their graves, they were gone. Their bodies had vanished, along with the others.”
“But how is that even possible?” Kati asked. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I,” admitted Shiloh. “It wasn’t until our local preacher explained everything to me that I began to understand. At first I was resistant to believe, but then slowly, I began to see the truth.”
“And what is the truth?” sniffled Kati, hope flickering in her eyes.
“The truth is that God exists,” answered Shiloh, “and so does Jesus Christ. My family and your family have been raptured and taken to Heaven. The Bible explains that first the dead in Christ will rise, followed by the living. Rest assured that your child is with your husband and they’ve both been spared from what’s to come, along with all of the other Christians in the world who vanished.”
“Do you really believe that?” asked Kati skeptically, wiping away more tears.
“You bet I do,” smiled Shiloh. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if my children and your child are playing together right now up in Heaven.”
“Then why didn’t God take us too?” whimpered Kati.
“Because we didn’t believe in him,” explained Shiloh. “Nor did we accept the salvation offered to us by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”
“So everyone who believed, even those who were dead, were taken away?” she asked.
“That’s right,” agreed Ian.
“I guess that explains the deaths of all those donor recipients,” replied Kati.
“What are you talking about?” asked Lex.
“Well,” began Kati, “before leaving Sacramento I heard reports of hundreds of people dropping dead throughout the city. No one paid much attention because we were all more shocked by the disappearance of the thousands who’d vanished, the earthquake and the meteor shower.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Anyway, the bodies of the dead were eventually autopsied and it was discovered that all of them had received an organ transplant of some type. But what was most interesting, was that the donated organs were missing and without any new incisions. They were simply gone, as if they’d never been there. None of us had any idea why this was happening, especially to only transplant recipients, but now hearing what you’ve told me, it all makes some kind of crazy sense.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lex.
“Well, based on what you’ve just told me, I believe the organs must have been donated by Christians and when God lifted up their bodies, like he did your family,” Kati said, looking at Shiloh, “he lifted up their entire body, including their donated organs.”
“Do you have any idea how that sounds?” asked Lex, unbelievingly.
“I do,” she admitted, lowering her head. “I’m supposed to be a trained medical professional. I’m not supposed to rely on superstition to answer these kinds of questions, but nothing else makes any sense.”
World War III – Day One
Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado
The President arrived at NORAD, located at Peterson Air Force Base, less than an hour after losing contact with Vice President Whitfield. After descending the steps of Air Force One, Hamilton and the remainder of his staff, were immediately escorted to a convoy of armored vehicles. The heavily guarded convoy sped off, carrying them to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, only a short distance away. Although the North American Aerospace Defense command center was located at Peterson Air Force Base, the nearby Cheyenne Mountain complex served as the alternative command center, and Hamilton’s secret service detail felt the President and his staff would be safer within the protection of the granite mountain.
The main entrance to the nuclear bunker, located at the north end of the mountain, was still open when they arrived. All other entrances had already been sealed. As he hurried passed, Hamilton eyed the twenty-five ton blast door which was already closing. The door made a loud thump, as it slid securely into place and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. No one could get in or out. This must be how a man feels, his first night in jail.
This was Hamilton’s first time in the bunker and he was amazed by the intricate network of tunnels, which branched off into a web, leading to the main chambers. The bunker was quite impressive, if you could get passed the claustrophobic feeling of being buried under thousands of tons of stone.
Hamilton was guided straight to his office and sleeping quarters, where he was relieved to find a decanter of scotch waiting for him. He quickly poured a glass, three fingers deep, and gulped it down.
“So, where do we stand?” he asked, immediately pouring another glass. This time he did it properly, adding a bit of water and a couple of ice cubes, before taking a modest sip.
“We’re completely locked down Mr. President,” replied Chief of Staff, Mathew Moore.
Hamilton still had no idea of the whereabouts of his daughter Evelyn. Is she safe? Is she hurt? Is she even alive? He felt so frustrated and helpless. What good was it to be the leader of the free world when he couldn’t even keep his own daughter safe?
“Any word on Evelyn?” he asked, looking up. His eyes were red and his face looked tired and heavy with worry.
“No sir, not yet, but we’re still looking,” answered Moore. He’d worked with the President for years, even before becoming his Chief of Staff, but this was the worst he’d ever seen him. “There’s still hope Mr. President.” Moore knew that Hamilton and Evelyn had a strained relationship to say the least, but none of that mattered to a parent when their child’s life was at risk.
“I want to know the instant you hear something,” demanded Hamilton, tossing his head back and swallowing the remainder of scotch.
“Yes, of course Mr. President.”
“We’ve found the remnants of Air Force Two,” said Secretary of State, Reese Lewis. “I’m sorry Mr. President, but there weren’t any survivors.”
“I’ll notify Mrs. Whitfield,” added Moore.
No survivors. Hamilton’s heart sank in his chest. It took a moment for the news to actually sink in. His colleague and best friend was dead. What would he tell Whitfield’s wife, or his son David? Thinking of David made Hamilton’s eyes water. The boy was his godson and should hear the news directly from him.
“No,” said Hamilton, “I’ll tell her and David myself. Get them on the line.”
“David is onboard the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln,” said Secretary of Defense, Benjamin Benson, “one of many ships that we still haven’t been able to make contact with.”
“Has it been sunk?” asked Hamilton, frightened to hear the answer.
“We don’t believe so Mr. President,” said Admiral Doyle. “The last communication we received placed them here,” he added, pointing to a large map on the wall behind Hamilton’s desk. “The ship suffered damage from the torpedo of a passing enemy submarine, but the hull is still intact. The carrier was fortunate to be far out at sea, running training exercises, when the country was attacked,” continued the Admiral. “Otherwise the enemy convoy would have destroyed them for sure.”
“I want to speak to David as soon as you’ve re-established contact,” ordered Hamilton.
“Yes sir, Mr. President,” said the Admiral.
“In the meantime, get George’s wife on the phone.”
“Yes Mr. President,” said Moore, waving to his assistant.
“We’ve received more reports on the outbreak dubbed Chimaera,” said Lewis. “Cities and towns across the country are pleading for medical assistance, and the death toll continues to rise exponentially.”
“Have we secured the vaccine yet?” asked Hamilton.
“Only a few hundred doses,” answered Moore. “The United Nations sent a small supply for high ranking government officials, and even that wasn’t enough to go around. Only the most indispensable people were given a dose.”
“Are they sending more?”
“Not at this time Mr. President. They’re struggling to manufacture more as we speak. They were completely unprepared for this outbreak and still aren’t sure how Chimaera got out of the lab. They’re planning to launch an investigation, once the outbreak is under control. Also, with the current turmoil around the world, they’re concerned the cure could fall into the wrong hands.”
“What do you mean by the wrong hands? It’s a cure!”
“Apparently the cure is fatal if used incorrectly. With so many dead and dying, the distribution and dosage of the limited supply needs to be controlled, to ensure accuracy and efficiency.”
“What about opening other sites to manufacture the vaccine?” Asked Hamilton, remembering the small, neon-blue syringes marked NC-666.
“We’ve been trying Mr. President,” answered Lewis. “Dr. Avery from the C.D.C. assures us that it’s only a matter of time before they have the process perfected. They’re coordinating with the scientists who developed the vaccine, but they need more time.”
“Time is the one thing we don’t have. Remind them that they’re the one who created this virus. If they want any help with the repercussions, we need the process perfected by tomorrow morning!” hissed Hamilton. “I want plans in place to distribute it all over the country as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” agreed Lewis.
“Mr. President,” said Benson, after hanging up the phone on Hamilton’s desk.
“Yes.”
“We’ve just verified that most of the nuclear missiles were launched from Chinese and Soviet airspace. However, at least one missile came from North Korea and several more were launched from the Middle East.”
“Which countries in the Middle East?” Asked Hamilton.
“We’re not sure yet Mr. President,” answered Benson.
“Let’s just nuke them all,” suggested General Williams. “That way we’re sure to get the guilty culprit.”
“If we do that than we’re just as likely to hit innocent countries and that wouldn’t help our position,” countered Moore sternly.
“So what? We’re already at war with the world,” said General Williams.
“Not to mention,” continued Moore, ignoring the General’s last comment, “Israel has troops on the ground all over the Middle East. If we launch a strike than we’ll undoubtedly kill Israelis as well. And that’s one country that we don’t want to go to war with.” Moore cast a disgusted look towards the General, who smiled in return.
“Collateral damage,” said General Williams, shrugging his shoulders, as if it didn’t matter who got killed, as long as the enemy was among the dead.
“Not quite,” said Moore. “As you very well know, Israel has nuclear launch capabilities. If we fire nukes on their troops they will launch a counter-strike and I don’t really think we can afford to get hit any more, do you?” Moore looked directly at General Williams when he asked the question.
“I’m not scared of that little country,” hissed the General. “If they want to go toe-to-toe with us, let them try!”
“In case your head is completely buried in the sand,” retorted Moore, “Israel isn’t the little country you make it out to be. Their borders have swelled, along with their military prowess. The much larger Muslim nations that surround Israel thought as you do, and look where that got them. Reports indicate that Israel has all but wiped them off the map. No Mr. President,” Moore turned to face Hamilton, “I don’t believe that launching a nuclear strike on the Middle East would be in our best interest, at least not while Israel has troops on the ground. I suggest we let the Jews deal with their enemies, while we deal with ours. They seem to be doing a better job than we are at the moment anyway.”
“That’s enough!” Spat Hamilton, sick of the petty arguing. “Launch a counter-strike on China and Russia at once!” he ordered.
“What about North Korea Mr. President? We know that at least one missile was launched from there.” said Benson.
“Yes,” agreed Hamilton, “hit them too.”
General Williams immediately began to give orders to the skeleton crew of personnel. Hamilton watched quietly, hoping that he’d made the right decision.
“I need the nuclear launch codes Mr. President,” said a dorky looking military aid. In his hands he held a large, metallic briefcase with a black, leather jacket. A small antenna protruded from the bag near the handle. The aid quickly removed the jacket and opened the briefcase. He reached inside and removed a nine-by-twelve inch Black Book with seventy-five loose-leaf pages printed in black and red. The aid set the Black Book, which contained retaliatory options, next to the briefcase and withdrew another book. The second book, also black and about the same size, contained information on sites around the country where the President could be taken in an emergency. Next, the aid removed a manila folder with eight or ten pages stapled together, giving a description of procedures for the Emergency Broadcast System. The last item was a three-by-five inch card with authentication codes. Without looking up, the military aid entered the codes and said, “I need your final authorization to launch sir.”
“Launch!” commanded Hamilton.
A secret service agent entered the room and whispered something to Moore, whose eyes immediately shifted to the President. He looked worried about something. Hamilton’s thoughts immediately went to his daughter, and then to the millions of people he was about to kill. He couldn’t lose focus now.
Moore walked over to where Hamilton stood, watching the monitor. “I need to speak with you Mr. President,” he said, in a hushed voice.
“What is it Moore?”
“In private Mr. President,” said Moore.
“In private? Now?” Hamilton needed to stay and watch the nuclear strike he was responsible for, but could tell from the look in Moore’s eyes that he had something important to say. “Fine,” he said, after a moment of consideration. “General Williams?”
“Yes Mr. President?”
“How long until the missiles hit their designated targets?”
“It’ll be over in less than fifteen minutes Mr. President,” replied General Williams.
“Benson,” said Hamilton. “I’ll be in my room. Keep me apprised of what’s happening.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Hamilton followed Moore and the secret service agent into his sleeping quarters, which were attached to his office. The agent closed the door behind them and stood at attention.
“What’s so important that you’ve pulled me away during a nuclear strike?” asked Hamilton.
Moore swallowed and glanced at the secret service agent guarding the door. “It’s Evelyn, Mr. President.”
“Oh good,” said Hamilton, “where is she? I want to speak with her immediately.”
“Well, Mr. President,” replied Moore, “that’s the problem. She isn’t here.”
“Where is she?”
“We still don’t know.”
“You pulled me away from a nuclear strike to tell me that you still don’t know anything?” asked Hamilton. He was about to return to his office when Moore’s voice stopped him.
“Not exactly Mr. President. We do know that she’s no longer at the ski resort in Vail.”
“Well then, where is she?” demanded Hamilton.
“When our agents arrived and entered Evelyn’s room she was already gone,” explained Moore. “All that remained as proof that she’d even been there was her luggage and the remains of her secret service detail.”
“Remains?” asked Hamilton. His mouth felt dry. His heart started to pound and he was having trouble focusing on what Moore was saying.
“Yes sir,” answered Moore, casting another glance towards the agent guarding the door. “Apparently, they’d all been executed.”
Hamilton’s legs began to feel weak at the knees, as he dropped onto the sofa, his hands clenched in fists of rage. He covered his face, as tears began to stream down his cheeks. His arms and legs were shaking uncontrollably. “Evelyn…Evelyn…Evelyn,” he whispered her name over and over.
“Mr. President?”
Hamilton gave no response.
“Mr. President?”
“What is it Moore?” asked Hamilton without looking up, his eyes fixated on the carpet in front of him.
“I just wanted to say how sorry I am, and that we’ll keep looking. Don’t worry John,” said Moore, calling the President by his first name. He rested his hand on the President’s shoulder, “We’ll find her.”