Project Reunion (20 page)

“Will do. Cam and Dwayne send their love –”

“Sorry, Dee, I have to go. I love you.” And the connection abruptly cut off. I realized self-consciously that I’d been stroking the phone while he spoke. I put it away.

I rallied and turned back to Tom and Kyla with a forced smile. “Alright! Now that’s out of the way, we have an interview to shoot!”

-o-

The day’s process was messy, but the eventual video came out great. Tom and I introduced ourselves, and conveyed the basic story of how we met, and how this got started. Most of the show comprised quarantine surveillance footage downloaded from Tom’s computers, with our conversation overlaid as the narration. They had plenty of footage – Tom’s facility used two-way video to supervise the quarantine batches, only risking staff in bio-hazard suits when absolutely necessary. Tom also kept records, of course. We included animated graphs from that data as well, to illustrate points he made during the discussion.

Mora was right. Not only the Northeast, but the entire country, and then the world, flocked to see my interview with Tom Aoyama. The surge in web traffic brought down Amenac’s servers several times as we hustled to scale up.

Cam’s episode didn’t get as much traffic. We tacked a teaser for it onto the end of Tom’s interview, promising to show Long Island refugees after quarantine, which drew some people in. Cam’s discussion of the Resco manual generated thoughtful buzz. Rescos and Cocos adored his episode, and left encouragement. But most important, Cam got more volunteers to help rebuild on Long Island. By Thanksgiving, he and Dwayne had a bigger force of Cocos and militia than they’d ever led in northeast Connecticut. Each volunteer reported to the pier with a four-month food supply and camouflage uniform, for the Coast Guard to give them a ride. Many of them came from Boston-Prov.

But that was all weeks later.

Chapter 15

Interesting fact: About 1 in 5 people died before graduating from the Project Reunion 4-week quarantine program. Actively contagious disease cases were shifted to hospice wards instead of quarantine, where they usually died. But more commonly, some refugees simply ‘let go’ after entering the program. These patients would pass disease screening, but whether in the first week or the last, simply laid down and died in their sleep. Cause of death was listed as R.I.P. – rest in peace.

“What do you mean, Emmett’s already taken Staten Island!” I yelled at Carlos Mora over the phone. Mora left a message to call him as soon as I got home from Long Island. “Why didn’t anyone tell me!”

“Cam knew. Emmett didn’t want you to worry,” said Mora. “The raw video is on the staging server. I’d like you to upload the two Long Island collections the same way, for HomeSec –”

“HomeSec!”

“Dee...” Mora’s croon had a warning tinge. “Remember how Emmett delegated military censorship to me? And HomeSec. This is how I make HomeSec play ball. They see all the raw footage, and submit suggestions. We treat them as partners, not the bad guys.”

“But Carlos, why would you do that? Sell us out to HomeSec?”

“I’m giving HomeSec a chance to join the good guys. HomeSec is going to co-sponsor the Project Reunion website. They’re eager to see your Whitfield footage. They’re talking about putting together their own episode for your web series. I’m giving them a chance to clean up their public image.”

“Whitewash their image, rather. Christ, Carlos – do you have any idea how much this will piss off the Amenac team?”

Mora sighed. “Dee, I’ve already OK’d this with Dave and Popeye and Leland. Amenac has the upper hand. We have the means to publish whether HomeSec likes it or not. But, if HomeSec stays happy, Project Reunion goes mainstream – Calumet-approved. Everyone is allowed to link to our website. Re-broadcast our webisodes. Discuss our agenda openly. Not just inside Amenac’s little protected sandbox. World-wide. We increase our audience by a factor of ten, at least.”

I hung on the phone, boggled into silence.

“Dee? You still there?”

“No muzzle? Carlos – you won us back freedom of speech?”

“Hardly. Dee, we have an agenda, same as HomeSec. Don’t get all self-righteous on me. I intend to use HomeSec and Project Reunion to wage a propaganda war against Pennsylvania.”

“...Why?”

Mora sighed. “To buy Emmett time to relieve New York.”

I rubbed my forehead in frustration. “Project Reunion was going to be all positive. Yay us. Not boo them. Pennsylvania didn’t create New York.” A moment too late, I remembered who I was talking to, the anguished Mora of that night in the pool.

“Actually, Dee, Tolliver did create Fortress Pennsylvania. And he seeded that Ebola epidemic. If you want to play Little Miss Pollyanna Sunshine – fine. But there’s a real risk here. Tolliver could move while Emmett’s got us over-extended saving lives. In case that happens, I want our version out there first.”

“OK. I can see that,” I said, only because I didn’t have much choice. “But Carlos, Project Reunion is a humanitarian mission. Yay us. The mission critical message is, ‘Yay us.’ The mission Emmett left
me
is high public morale, to sustain a long hard effort.”

“Understood,” he said grudgingly. “Anyway, Emmett’s footage is there if you want to see it. It’ll be a couple weeks before that episode is edited. By the other team, not yours.”

“We’re not going to publish that right away? But it’s...news.”

“No. What Tolliver knows, is that we hope to start moving refugees into quarantine by Thanksgiving, or maybe Christmas. We let him think that as long as possible.”

The light finally dawned. “Emmett already launched Project Reunion? Really?”

“The videos are there if you want to watch them.”

I wanted. So I dove in. I couldn’t waste too much time, though. I had my own webisodes to produce, and a major site launch in a few days.

-o-

Emmett stood at the ship’s rail, peering through binoculars at the industrial shore. A gaggle of marines stood near him. They wielded sturdy tablet computers. Emmett had one of those tucked under his elbow as well. It was an unpleasant early morning in New York harbor. The men’s uniforms flapped at them, drizzle damping their hair and faces. Heavy chop and whitecaps lay on the waves beyond.

“Is this a good time, Colonel MacLaren?” the disembodied interviewer’s voice asked. The reporter was Amiri Baz. I’d seen him before on cable, reporting from distant battlefields. He was good. He usually embedded himself into armed units.

Emmett flashed him a smile, and ignored the camera man. He accepted a small microphone and clipped it onto his collar. He jerked his chin to indicate the men standing nearby. “They’re flying reconnaissance drones into position. I’m just killing time with the binoculars. Or, well... It helps me understand the drone feeds. I get a better 3-D feel for their viewpoints. That one’s headed for the Staten Island Ferry Terminal.”

The camera zoomed in on the ferry terminal across the rough water. A barely-visible miniature helicopter drone headed for it. It bobbed in the strong breeze, obscured by drizzle in the air.

“What are you looking for?” Baz prompted.

“Reception committee,” Emmett replied tensely. He gathered himself back into interview mode, and explained, “We’re about to launch the landing forces. So, taking a last look at what our marines are heading into.”

A commotion caught his attention from out of mike range. Emmett pocketed his binoculars in a hurry and brought up his tablet. “Drone 7...” The camera dove in to catch a smile growing on his face. A real smile, not a feral one – Emmett was surprised and delighted. “White flag confirmed! Drone 8 yet?”

Fast forward. Emmett and the gang were swapping high-fives. He pulled out a field phone. “Colonel Yazzie? MacLaren. We have white flags confirmed. I repeat, we have white flags. Surrounding the terminal, and all along Jersey Street and Victory Boulevard. There are small clumps of civilians on the streets, each with a white flag.... Yes, sir. Proceed with Plan White Flag, stage 1.”

Emmett turned to Amiri Baz with a triumphant grin. “Now we land troops on Staten Island. We go in carefully. But we have initial communication with the civilians on the island. I believe that’s a welcome. Cameras off.”

He looked alive, exultant, enthralled, in his element. Emmett was having a blast.

“Wait, Colonel – does that mean you go in unarmed?”

Emmett smiled crookedly. “It means cameras off, Amiri.”

-o-

The camera panned across a large abandoned parking lot, and zoomed in on an approaching group. Two marines wore medical face masks and gloves. One carried crutches, while the other pushed a cadaverous man in a wheelchair. A small citizen group stood waiting behind them, white flag flapping from an upright pole held between them. The mid-day sun flashed through between fast-scudding clouds above.

Amiri Baz’s voice-over: “At this point, the ferry terminal complex is secured. Units are pushing forward throughout the Staten Island landing zone. No resistance so far. This elderly gentleman was waiting for us in the parking plaza by the ferry terminal building, under a white flag. He had a large sign proclaiming that he was a Staten Island council member. He is about to meet with Lieutenant Colonel MacLaren, commanding the evacuation forces for Project Reunion.” Camera panned to Emmett, who stood waiting behind a folding table, also wearing medical gloves and mask.

Emmett stepped around the table to greet the councilman. He bent down to tenderly affix a microphone on the man. He gently shook hands and introduced himself. “I can’t tell you how much it meant to us, to see your white flags, sir. Thank you, for arranging the warm welcome. You are?”

“Staten Island council member Ty Jefferson,” he replied, in a reedy voice. “I’m the senior one left. From before. On behalf of Staten Island, welcome. Thank God for you. We’ve waited so long.”

Emmett perched on the edge of the table, and handed Jefferson a tiny cup of cider. “The medics warned us not to feed you too fast,” he murmured apologetically. Jefferson’s skeletal hand shook so fiercely that Emmett took a knee before him, and held his hand steady. Jefferson closed his eyes and drank the cider in rapture. He paused, lips lingering to kiss the empty cup. Perhaps he would have called himself black. But his skin was pale compared to Emmett’s deep tan, his patchy hair white.

Emmett’s nose twitched. He looked up at one of the marines in anguish. “Fetch a medic. His leg... Councilman Jefferson, were there any other council members waiting with you, over there?”

“No. My family.” He rallied. “You’ll find other people, in the streets. They’re high priority for help. We couldn’t move them out of the landing zone you asked for. They’re too weak. Maybe two hundred. The other council members – we’re arranging priority...” He lost his thread.

“Thank you, sir.” Emmett glanced at the remaining marine, who nodded and turned away to make a call, and convey that information.

Haltingly, often confused, Jefferson briefed Emmett on the local status. There were some gangs he had concerns about, but they weren’t on this part of the island. He advised strong defenses along Jersey Street and Victory Boulevard, the border of the area the landing forces had requested be cleared. Jefferson warned of the pile of bodies, not burned for lack of fuel. He recommended buildings most suitable for quarantine housing. He asked how many evacuees Emmett could take, and how long they would have to wait. He begged for food for those left behind.

The medic arrived, and briefly looked at the leg. He looked up at Emmett and nodded. “Gangrene. We should be ready to handle that in another hour or two, sir.” He turned to Ty Jefferson. “I’m very sorry, sir. But that leg needs to come off as soon as possible. We’ll take good care of you. You’ll be evac’d with the first wave –”

“No, no I can’t leave –”

The medic made to grasp his shoulder firmly, then winced back to a gentler touch as the elder man gasped. “There is no choice sir. The leg can’t be saved. You’ll die if we don’t amputate.”

“Not that! Good riddance,” Jefferson spat out. “God, it hurts. But I can’t leave my people. Not now. They need me,” he entreated Emmett.

“Ty – may I call you Ty?” Emmett replied earnestly. “The refugees will need a leader like you in the quarantine camps. Will you go with them, and lead them into their new lives? I need you too much to let you die here, Ty.
They
need you too much.”

“My family...” Jefferson wailed softly.

“They could go with you,” Emmett said doubtfully.

“Of course they can’t!” denied Jefferson. “They are not priorities! But – can I come home again? Later?”

Emmett nodded slowly. “When you’re well, sir. I promise you. But for now, please do me this favor. Go to Camp Yankee to heal, and lead your people there. And introduce me to someone I can negotiate with for Staten Island while you’re gone.”

The marine wheeled Ty Jefferson back to his family, back to arrange another representative to the armed forces.