Berenike had sneezed a couple of times. Was it that minor cold that had been going around for a few days, or the delta cold that was killing people, or had the cleaning fluid gotten to her? There was one way to find out: wait to see if she got sick, and it might happen soon enough. Don’t waste any opportunities. Mutiny now, not later.
She studied the statistics of overall AutoKar use. The lunchtime rush had been a relative trickle. Most people, presumably, had already made it safely home, if they were safe anywhere. She saw no evidence of major poaching or hacking. Cars would still need to be cleaned, but not nearly as quickly. Despite that, she would have had surplus cars after allocations to essential workers, like utilities and health care, but now they were being used to transport individuals to medical care. Demand still exceeded supply.
But she had good news. Due to backlash from the federal government, the City of Milwaukee had finally declared itself independent, in open rebellion, along with some suburbs, although the county had stayed loyal. That mattered tremendously to her morale, although not to anything she was doing. Mutineer rebel commando—hell, yeah.
Out in the wider world, the Prez still hadn’t made an appearance, but his staff and supporters seemed more concerned with putting down the mutiny than with solving its causes. The mutiny medical providers, which seemed to be most of them, were organizing diagnostic tests. And the news said that Mexico had closed its border and would shoot on sight any American trying to cross it.
She got a call on her personal phone. Her pseudo-grandfather, Christopher Swoboda. Maybe he needed help, not that she owed him even the time of day. She answered because she’d suddenly had an idea about lawyers and extortion.
“Honey,” he said, “come home here. You’re not safe. It’s just a job.”
“I’m doing essential work.” For once it was true.
“I’m so worried about you. It scares me worse than dying myself.” He sounded like Momma at her worst. “You should be here, with me.”
“I’ll be fine. I happen to know that one of my sisters’ father is a federal prosecuting attorney.”
He was silent, then said, “I’m sure he wouldn’t—”
“Extortion is a crime,” she said.
He was silent again. He’d sounded well enough. That was all she owed him, the same concern for his health that she’d have for a stranger.
“I’m working for Emergency Government now. I gotta go.” She ended the call, and she’d feel fine if she never heard from him again.
Wholesale food distribution, pharmacy staff, emergency workers, and funeral transport all needed cars, or they would soon.
The city called, this time a person in the Health Department she didn’t know. “We’ve had losses in the department and we need someone who could handle transportation. Can you? Now? It’s okay if you have other priorities, but we’re very short on resources and we think you have the skills—”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I should describe the job.” It involved making deliveries and having contact with the public, perhaps even large groups, so it would entail the risk of infection and possible violence—
“That’s fine. I’ll do anything.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I’ll be glad to take any kind of risk.”
“You need to know that we’ve all been exposed to the delta cold here at City Hall. I don’t know how it suddenly got everywhere, but people have been exposed all over the city and the country, as far as we can tell, which is just not what epidemiological models would predict.” She sounded outraged, as if she suspected something. “Anyway, it’s definitely here in this building. You’ll be at risk of infection.”
“I’ve been exposed, too. I’m not worried.” But yes, this whole outbreak seemed suspicious for a lot of reasons.
“Um, okay. I’ll note that. Report to the Health Department at City Hall as early as you can.”
Within minutes, she’d be a commando in the streets. Good.
But who would do her job at AutoKar? It was essential, after all. After a moment’s thought, she called upstairs to the Christian lady, Summer Ngan. “I need to do some work for the city. Would you like to manage the southeastern Wisconsin fleet? I know you’ve had some management training.”
“Me? Let me pray on that.” Two seconds later: “Wow, God was quick this time. Yes.”
“Okay. Not too much is happening right now. Can you come down here? I can get you ready.”
Before she left, Berenike changed into street clothes but kept the wide purple belt and bright hair clips. She commandeered a delivery truck from the fleet. She’d need it for her new job—a better job, an exciting job. Anything would be. She had been trapped for much too long at AutoKar. Only an unthinkable disaster was enough to let her escape, but to what? All the news she had been able to find said that bigger shit would hit bigger fans as the day went on—more panic, more chaos, more death, more weird disease patterns, and more coordinated federal efforts to put down the mutiny. She could die, and not just of the cold. But, fuck it, she’d die with her boots on.
Vita and I were about to review some data together, sitting in my little office, and I studied her as much as she studied the results.
“I’m surprised you made this analysis so quickly,” she said.
“I found a shortcut, and what I learned makes me very hopeful.” I brought up some simple bar charts. The answer we yearned to find was, in the end, simple. “You can see the progression over time.” I paused to blow my nose, although it seemed like a waste of the precious vaccine viruses to trap them in a tissue.
“Yes, that’s a very fast response by the immune system,”
