from around the other corner and he knew it was hopeless. The building was lost, along with everyone who might still be in it, including June and Amelia.
“Doug, we’ve gotta get out of here before they get us, too!”
Doug knew the woman was right. He didn’t even remember her name but for the moment she was thinking clearer than him. There was nothing he could do but agree. And do it. Ducking and crouching, they retreated, picking up a few stragglers along the way. A few minutes later his force hooked up with the platoon still holding the treatment facility. And here he found most of the medical staff, come down to help defend their patients. He searched frantically, but could see neither June nor Amelia, nor anyone else he recognized from the admin building. They were either dead or captives.
“Look!”
It seemed as if the voice came to him from a far distance. It jerked him back to reality. Doug’s chest heaved as he tried to bring his attention back to the situation at hand. The remainder of the security force and what staff had escaped were depending on him for direction. His gaze followed the pointing finger of the man who had spoken. As he watched, parachutes began filling the sky.
“Goddamn motherfuckers. They coming in heavy, preacher. Here and the airport both,” Fridge Greene said, flipping his phone closed. He wiped at the trickle of blood coming from beneath the bandana wrapped around his head.
Qualluf’s body was wet, too, but with sweat. The building they had captured had lost electrical power during the fight and a spring day in Atlanta can be the equal of high summer farther north. They were in trouble, but he wasn’t done yet, not while he had captives. “How many made it here before they cut us off from the main body?”
“Not enough to hold this place, preacher. We have to let them know we got captives, then deal.” It was all Fridge knew to do now. Either that or kill the captives and go down fighting. He stared at the black skin of his forearm. They were dead men anyway; that gave them an advantage in negotiating.
“All right, see if you can get in contact with whoever’s in charge of the rest of those miserable, death-dealing bastards. Make sure they know we got plenty of prisoners.” He grinned, showing his two front teeth with the diamond-embedded initials, CB, for Church of Blacks. “And make damn sure them whiteys know how many women we got. And what we got planned for them if we don’t get no cure.”
Qualluf was well aware of the prevalent bias of white men when they thought of their women having sex with black men, and particularly prejudiced were southern men, which he figured many of the opposing force would be. This was Atlanta, after all, and the Army had always had a higher proportion of men from the Deep South than from other parts of the country. He showed his teeth again. Just let him hint at rape and see how fast they rolled over!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Sir, we’ve regained contact with Colonel Christian, the brigade commander of the unit that parachuted into Atlanta.”
President Marshall looked up at Lurline from his desk, irritated at having been interrupted during his perusal of world casualty figures from the Harcourt and Goldwater viruses. Then he remembered. The CDC. Perhaps he could get a later update. “Good. Have someone talk to the CDC director and get me the latest uh… morbidity report. He rolled the phrase around his tongue to get it out. Uttering the words gave him a feeling that he was on top of the situation and knew exactly what was going on, though only a few weeks ago he’d had no earthly clue what a “morbidity” report entailed, except perhaps something about death.
“Uh, sir, I’m sorry, but it seems that part of the CDC is still in the hands of the rioters.”
“Well, damn it, can’t Mary—I mean, um what’s her name, the woman that replaced her, spare a few minutes to tell us what’s going on in the rest of the world with these viruses? Isn’t that the agency that gathers them?”
“Yes sir, but… Amelia Foster, along with most of the administrative staff, have been captured by the mob.”
“Goddamn it, Lurline, what did General Newman send those troops to do—sit on their ass? Aren’t there enough troops to re-take the place?”
“I assume so, sir, but the blacks are threatening to kill all the hostages if we don’t meet their demands.”
The president felt color brightening his face. His yellow phone rang once and its bright yellow light began flashing. He reached for it, punched the hold button and turned back to his Chief of Staff. “Isn’t the CDC
staff mostly clerical workers and such? Can’t they be replaced?”
“I suppose so, sir, but… well, it wouldn’t be a good thing politically to have them slaughtered because we won’t negotiate?”
Marshall looked at the flashing yellow light again. Whatever it was, it could wait a moment. The red phone was the only one that demanded immediate, unqualified action and he hoped it would never ring.
In the meantime… “Look, Lurline, we can’t have a bunch of black apes holding our most important health facility hostage, and never mind the clerks. Tell the Brigade commander I want it back in our hands within forty eight hours or he’s gone.”
“But I can’t…”
Marshall sighed. Always problems. Suddenly he thought of a solution. “I’ve got it. Let the vice president handle the situation. Just tell her she has to have it settled within two days or the army does it for her. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll go tell her right away.”
“Good, but stay close. God knows what that yellow light is about.” He plucked the phone from its cradle, while thinking how smart he had been to give the Atlanta problem to Marlene. If it turned out well, he would get credit for being a good administrator. If the shit hit the fan, it would be the vice president’s fault. Either way, the CDC would be up and running again in a couple of days or heads would roll, not even counting those of the hostages.
General Newman was on the other end of the line. “Mr. President, I have confirmed reports that China is attempting an invasion of Taiwan. I’ve spoken to Willingham, for what that’s worth, and he suggests it’s an effort on China’s part to divert attention from the health and economic crisis on the mainland. I didn’t know it until just now, but the Chinese have had a banking collapse.”
“Again?”
“Yes, sir, according to Willingham. The State Department always gets financial reports first, even before Tomlin’s people. Can’t we do something about that?”
“Maybe later. How serious is the situation?”
“Pretty bad. China’s threatening to use nukes if Taiwan doesn’t spread her legs and be raped quietly, but it looks as if the Taiwanese are going to defend the island anyway.”
“What do you want to do, Borland?”
“I say let ‘em fight, sir. Taiwan won’t be a pushover, and if China goes nuclear, I think Russia will jump in. So much for China.”
“How sure are you that we won’t have to get involved?”
“Sure enough to give you that advice. If they start mixing it up, Russia won’t get off scot free. We could get lucky and wind up with both of them so battered that neither is a threat to us any longer, either economically or politically. Mr. President, I think if we just sit tight, we may wind up in charge of every part of the world that matters. At any rate, it’s worth taking the chance. We’ll hold on to the African nuclear facilities and cooperate with Israel on the oil fields. Once the virus runs its course, we can work with England and split up Africa between the three of us. And this time, by God, we won’t let the jungle bunnies have any say in how we run the place if there’s
