different escape routes; including a helicopter landing pad and a ready to go convoy of armored cars.
President Marshall took his seat at the head of the table in the conference room of the bunker. Soon the smell of coffee permeated the air.
“Why aren’t the screens lit up? I want to see what’s happening.” Marshall glanced toward one of the walls that held an array of monitor screens.
Lurline nodded to one of the agents while she continued making notes on her PDA about how to handle the aftermath of the fiasco. He lit up three of the monitors; one showed national breaking news, the others gave panoramic back and front views of the area around the White House and the streets and buildings beyond, taken from recorders on the rooftop above them. Those two appeared almost identical. The streets swarmed with black citizens, men and women alike. Many of them were climbing over the fences surrounding the White House, using crates and boxes and even a few automobiles as steps. Some fell as Secret Service snipers on the roof fired at them, but the pressure of the mob behind was too great to stop, especially as the rifle fire couldn’t be heard over the crowd noises—and the noise of their own guns.
The White House guards had all disappeared except for a few uniformed bodies sprawled on the lawn.
“Good God!” the president exclaimed. He felt a queasy sense of fear begin to envelop him. “We’d better get out of here!”
“We’re working on it, Mr. President. We have to be certain that the other end of an escape route is open before leaving. Don’t worry; no one can find their way down here.” Lurline didn’t mention what might happen if the building were set on fire.
It was another half hour before a way was found to leave safely. All the while, President Marshall watched the scenes around the White House as if mesmerized. He took one look back over his shoulder as he was being escorted out. An army helicopter had been trying to rescue the snipers from the roof.
The helicopter began smoking, whether from gunfire or mechanical problems wasn’t apparent, but the result was catastrophic. It tilted sideways and made an arc toward the ground. It crashed directly into the dense blanket of humanity, then exploded in a ball of fire. Flames were licking at fallen bodies and running figures from the periphery of the crash site as the door closed behind him.
CHAPTER TEN
It was a bad week for Doug. Bob Handley had hung on long past the time they expected him to, but he finally died. Doug was almost glad when he passed away. He had suffered great pain at the end, refusing narcotics so that he could remain coherent. His wife called Doug to tell him when it was over.
“I’m sorry, Joan. He was a good friend. Is there anything I can do?”
“You can kill those bastards that started this if you ever find them,” Mrs. Handley sobbed.
He thought it better not to answer that. Instead, he asked “Are you still feeling all right, Joan? How about the kids?”
“We’re okay so far, Doug, but… oh God, why is this happening? Who could hate us so much?”
Doug had no answer for her, nor did anyone else. The week ended with the Harcourt virus still raging uncontrolled, but with the White House back in the hands of the government.
Doug had spent more time watching that event play out than he should have, missing sleep and then having bad dreams over some of the scenes the cameras showed. The exploding helicopter was what had effectively ended the siege, burning a huge swath through the crowd and stampeding most of the rest of them. Armored personnel carriers began pushing onto the grounds by evening, leading a reinforced paratroop battalion in on foot as it had been decided it was too dangerous to jump in. Even so, the soldiers took casualties from remnants of the mob firing from behind overturned vehicles and windows of buildings, venting their pent up anger in the only way they thought was left to them. Finally, the commander ordered heavy weapons into action. Any place harboring snipers was leveled to the ground.
Automatic sprinklers saved the White house from burning, but there was still damage, a lot of it caused from the army troops who had gone through the building room by room, shooting at anything that moved.
Several clerks and service people who had managed to hide in nooks and crannies from the mob were killed by mistake before it was over.
The carnage outside was sickening. Burned and mutilated bodies lay where they had fallen while more soldiers poured into the area and began clearing and securing an area stretching in a half mile radius around the White House, and clamping heavy controls on an even wider circle. The bodies were still lying where they had fallen when Doug came off duty the next morning. He stayed awake long enough to listen to a bleary eyed president peel off the political gloves and declare martial law in every state of the Union.
Doug fell asleep before he heard the Presidential Press Secretary began reading off a list of executive orders that would take effect the same day.
The phone woke Doug late that afternoon. He yawned as he reached for it.
“Hello. Craddock here.”
“Hi Doug, this is June.”
He laughed sleepily. “I always recognize your voice. What time is it? Never mind, I see the clock. Hey, I’ve slept all day!”
June laughed. “Good. Are you still off for a week?”
“So far. How about you?” He felt a wave of energy surging through his body just from hearing her voice.
“Just the weekend, but you can come over whenever you’re ready.”
“All I need to do is get a shower. What can I bring?”
“Something to drink if you can find anything.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, I guess you haven’t heard. Liquor is going to be rationed. Everyone has been stocking up today.”
“What—never mind. You can catch me up when I get there. How about food?”
“Bring some bread if you have any. I’ve been afraid to go shopping.”
“I could try to find some takeout.”
“Don’t bother. From what I’ve been hearing, and seeing as I drive, I think most of the fast food places are closed, as well as a good many of the restaurants.”
Doug knew she was right. He had seen that happening all week as help didn’t show up and drivers failed to make deliveries. “All right. See you in a bit. Keep your doors locked and your gun handy, even if you are living here now. There’s still lots of nut cases loose and this stuff is making them even loonier than usual.”
“I know. I’ll be careful.”
Doug stripped off his underwear and showered quickly, feeling guilty for not having taken June to a firing range while they had a chance. He had run her through a dry firing exercise, but nothing gave a person a feel for a handgun except actually shooting one. Tomorrow maybe.
Before leaving he bundled up a few items to drop off at the dry cleaners in the complex. He glanced at the dishes in the sink and decided they could wait a little longer. He was anxious to see June now that he was clean and dressed in his usual jeans and jacket. He found a package of frozen dinner rolls in the top of the refrigerator and bagged them, along with a few other items, including a bottle of wine and a fifth of rum. He checked the lock on his gun cabinet and the door and headed for his car. If they could manage it, he intended to escort June back to their apartments in the city to pick up a number of items that were already getting hard to find at the CDC complex.
The dry cleaning store was open, but not taking any new business. The owner was having to do almost all the work by himself and couldn’t handle more customers until he caught up with the backload.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Craddock,” he apologized. Most of my help is either sick, dead, or just left one day and never came back.” Seeing Doug’s stricken look and the size of his laundry bag, he sighed. “All right, you’ve been a good customer. Leave it with me. It will be a day or two longer than usual before it’s ready, though.”
Doug gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks Billy. I really do appreciate it.”
