members sitting closest to the president and then bent to speak in a confidential tone. “Mr. President? We’ve just learned that someone in Stebbins is sending out messages.”
“What kind of messages, Blair? And to whom?”
“The wrong kind, Mr. President,” said Blair. “What’s worse is that they’re being posted on the Internet. YouTube, mostly; fed by links on Twitter, and other social media sites. We’re working to control those sites … but the Internet is volatile. The National Guard units in Stebbins are attempting to locate the sender and shut him down.”
“What’s he saying?”
“I can play it for you, sir. Do you want me to clear the room?”
“If it’s already on the Internet, there’s no point. Play it.”
Blair nodded and punched some buttons on a computer built into the table. The screen switched from the weather report to a page of the YouTube Web site. Blair pressed Play and a good looking white man with blond hair and a pinstripe shirt appeared. The man was soaked and his face was lined with stress. His eyes, which were robin’s egg blue, stared into the camera with laserlike intensity.
“My name is Billy Trout…”
Everyone in the room stopped to watch and within seconds there wasn’t a sound. Not a murmur or side comment. The president felt his throat constrict as he watched the video. The video included footage of infected bodies, mangled and partially consumed, torn by bullets, splashed with black mucus. There were two other people in the video, both police officers, both showing signs of injury and stress. A white woman and a black man. Trout named them and gave their badge numbers. The last few lines of the video hit the hardest.
“… this is not a natural disaster and this is not a terrorist attack. This is a man-made disaster, and I know who is responsible and how this occurred. Please post the link to this video. The only thing that can save the lives of all these people, all of these
The video ended but the room remained absolutely silent. All eyes were on the president.
“You’re sure this isn’t a hoax?” he asked.
Blair shook his head. “Billy Trout is a reporter for Regional Satellite News. Small time but well respected. Officers Desdemona Fox and JT Hammond are with the Stebbins police. She’s former army. DMV searches match them to their photo IDs. This is real.”
“Several hundred people? That’s great news! I want the Guard to get to those children. Protect them and get them out of—”
“Mr. President … I don’t think you appreciate the complexity of this. Our Wildfire containment protocols have six different response models for suburban outbreaks. All of them offer options for many aspects of the problem, but on one point they all agree. If hard containment is possible, then that is the only safe and reliable course of action.”
The president stared at him. “No way, Blair. I can’t accept that. You’re saying that a Red Wall response is our
“Regrettably, sir, that is correct.”
“No. That is unacceptable.”
“Sir … you’ve seen the reports, you know that we can’t let a single infected host out of the Q-zone. Not one. This isn’t cholera or typhus. We can’t inoculate against this. No one has a natural immunity to these parasites. Each host is one hundred percent infectious. One drop of blood contains enough larvae to—”
“I know, damn it.”
Blair adjusted his glasses. “Then, sir, you have to understand the severity of this. We don’t have diagnostic protocols for this. We don’t have prophylactic measures beyond sterilization.”
“So, what would you have me do? Drop fire bombs on that town while someone is broadcasting it to the world? There are seven thousand people in Stebbins County. I don’t think I want to go down in history as the president who slaughtered more people than were killed in the entire war in Afghanistan! Twice as many as died on 9-11.”
Blair sighed and shook his head. “Given the field reports we’ve received, Mr. President, I doubt as many as ten percent of those people are still alive.”
“Those are estimates, Blair, not hard numbers, and you damn well know it. There could be four or five thousand people still alive. I won’t authorize a strike unless we have exhausted all other possible options.”
“Well, sir … whether we drop bombs or not, sir, we have to stop the sender. So far nothing he’s said is damaging to your administration, Mr. President, but we can’t take any chances.”
“How would you suggest we stop him?”
Blair did not have to spell it out; his look was eloquent enough.
“Christ,” growled the President. “Is that the best we can do? React like thugs?”
“This is a commanding response to a very real threat to this country, Mr. President. This isn’t a hurricane or broken levies. If we drop the ball on this, or if we’re too cautious in our response, then we could be looking at a pandemic that would make the Black Death look like—”
“Skip the dramatics,” snapped the president.
“Your pardon, but I’m not being dramatic. If anything I’m
The president shook his head. “I’m not going to authorize a sanction against someone who is trying to save American lives. I’ve compromised a lot since taking office, Blair, but I haven’t slipped that far.”
Blair took a breath. “I understand your concerns, Mr. President, but our scientific advisors are in a panic over this. They are urging us to implement Red Wall.
“I understand,” said the president wearily, “I’ve ordered the choppers in. Once they’re over Stebbins airspace, we’ll see where we are.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR
Dez Fox looked out at a sea of faces. Hundreds of them, young and old. More young than old. All turned toward the open doors, their faces pale with fear and their eyes bright with hope.
She wanted to find the two teachers JT had left to guard the door. Find them and kick the living shit out of them for abandoning their posts, and for abandoning these kids.
She felt JT and Trout move up to flank her, filling the doorway.
The kids looked at them and at the guns they carried, and at the uniforms they wore. Suddenly, and all together, they jumped to their feet, screaming and applauding. Dez felt her lips part into a silent “oh” of surprise. She turned to JT in confusion.
Trout leaned close and whispered in her ear. “They’re applauding because the cavalry has just arrived.”
“But,” she said, “but … we’re not…”
“Smile and wave, Dez. That’s what they’re looking for. Smile and wave. Be the hero. Let them know you’re here for them. After all, it’s the truth, right? So let them know it. Let them know that you’re here for them, to protect them, and that you won’t abandon them. That you won’t let the monsters get them.”
Dez looked into Trout’s eyes for a long time even as the applause rolled like thunder around the big hall. She looked for the mockery, the joke in his eyes. And she did not find it.
She slowly raised her pistol over her head and forced a smile onto her face.
The applause rose in intensity. Teachers and parents made their way through the sea of kids, and they shook Dez’s hand, and Billy’s, and even JT’s.
