The Ebola Wall (10 page)

“It’s your
choice
, Captain,” Elissa continued. “If you do survive, you’ll find out that word has a new meaning here inside of the wall. Here, terms like liberty, freedom, and choice have new definitions. We all heard those words growing up, but never
really
understood their value. I seriously doubt any of us did. But now I, and about 700,000 other survivors know. We’ve seen what it’s like to have those things stripped from a blameless population. If
you
live, I’m sure you’ll eventually understand what I’m talking about. Let me know if you want to exercise your
choice
and decide the pain’s too much.”

He nodded weakly, and then changed the subject. “What are my odds of beating this thing?”

“Not good. While you’re young and strong, that only seems to help a little with this bug. I’ve seen 70-year old grandmothers live through it. I also witnessed 25-year old athletes die quickly. The virus is very indiscriminant; it doesn’t care about race, gender, or age.”

It occurred to Norse that his caregiver wasn’t wearing protection of any sort. It seemed odd, given the countless images the media had broadcast – doctors and nurses protected to the hilt with astronaut-type suits. “You don’t seem to have any fear of catching Ebola,” he whispered. “Why?”

She snorted, an almost guilty expression crossing her face. “I’m a Gold,” she replied sheepishly. “About 2% of mankind seems to be naturally immune. I carry the virus in my blood, but it doesn’t seem to want to attack my body.”

“So it does discriminate… at least in some way.”

She nodded, “I suppose. Anyway, I must continue with my rounds. I have a pregnant mother who’s in labor and could pop any time. We’re not sure what to expect with the child… at least as far as the virus is concerned.”

Norse watched her leave his cell, noticing that she didn’t bother to lock the door. “The door,” he smiled weakly, “you forgot to lock me in.”

“Even if you could walk, Captain, where would you go?”

And then she was gone.

Doctor Herald continued down the hall, turning the corner and almost bumping into Colonel Taylor.

“How’s our patient, Doctor?”

“He’s 10-15 hours away from entering stage-3 trial. Do you still want me to offer him the serum?”

Taylor rubbed his chin, pondering the question. “Does he fit the profile?”

She shrugged. “He’s an acceptable example.”

Taylor digested her words for a short time. “Offer him the trial. Don’t mention any of the other experiments or results, make it seem like he’s a lone wolf.”

“Sounds like a plan, sir… if he makes it that long. I offered him a bullet today, and I was worried he was actually going to accept.”

“It’s his choice, Doc, and so is the serum treatment. Prisoner or not, he still has the right to make his own decisions. We’re never going to let that be taken away from anyone again. We’re never going back to the way it was.”

“Amen to that, sir. Amen to that.”

“Do you have preliminary results from the other tests?”

“Yes, sir. We are seeing 99% survival rates from Cavers, over 95% from the stage three patients. The captain is one of the few stage two examples we have available, so his participation will be helpful.”

Taylor nodded, obviously pleased with the news. “That’s an excellent report, Doctor. Sounds like we might have this thing beaten, once and for all.”

The physician wasn’t so sure. “As long as it doesn’t mutate on us again, sir, you’re correct. Still, it takes huge amounts of Gold blood to manufacture the serum. The blood drives are still going well, but there are only so many of us. Personally, I’ve given so much plasma I feel like I’ve been exposed to a castle full of vampires.”

The colonel chuckled at the analogy. “Our sending 200 of the Golds over the wall probably didn’t help much, but I’m still convinced it was a worthwhile operation. As far as the serum goes, I’m told there may be a way to make the process more efficient, but it could take months before we figure that out.”

“That’s correct, sir. Our scientific resources are extremely limited. It’s the one area I wish we could solicit help from outside the wall.”

“They’d never believe us. You know they’ve written us off; they would just think it was another trick born of desperation. Besides, they’re going to be very busy in just a few days.”

Her commander’s words reminded Elissa of the recent operation. She half-turned, looking around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Any word on the escapees, sir?”

Taylor repeated her proximity check for unwelcome ears, and then responded in a low whisper. “We’ve intercepted communications that indicate they only captured or killed about 20. Like your test results, those numbers are better than our most optimistic estimates. In about five days, all hell is going to break loose on the other side of that wall.”

“That’s excellent news, sir. You just made my day.”

Anna and Paige were amazed at the masses of people gathered at the National Mall. Fueled by the sheer number of attendees present, an air of excitement had taken hold of the crowd.

The girls were also pleased to see the wide range of ages present. On their bus ride from Indianapolis, Paige had expressed concern that Houston’s plight was going to become another issue ignored by the older generations of Americans, much like the oft-compared movements protesting the Vietnam War.

But that didn’t appear to be the case as the girls meandered along the reflecting pool, taking in the sights and soaking up the energy being emitted by tens of thousands of like-minded people.

“The speakers are supposed to start in less than an hour,” Anna noted, glancing at her watch. “We should probably be heading toward the Lincoln Memorial.”

“This is all so very cool,” Paige responded. “Still, it’s going to be hard to top the Maverick’s overtime win in Indy last night.”

“I’m so glad we did this, Sis. I was worried Mom and Dad weren’t going to see things our way.”

The older sibling nodded, her warm smile turning into something else. “It’s our duty, kiddo,” she said in a low voice. “We swore an oath to expose as many people as possible, and I plan on keeping my word. That fact that we are having a little fun doing it makes it all the better.”

Anna kept her voice low as well, “How long before they start getting sick?”

“Three to five days is what the colonel said,” came the reply. “By then, we’ll be back home in Dallas and watching it all unfold on the news.”

Paige watched her younger sister frown, instinctively knowing what was bothering the youngest McMillian. “Don’t worry, Anna. The doctors were pretty sure our immunity was genetic in origin. It’s very unlikely our parents will get sick.”

“I know,” Anna said. “Still, it was so much easier to commit to all this before we went back home. It was so much easier when we weren’t looking in their eyes every day.”

“They’ll be fine,” Paige assured, opening her arms to pull the younger girl close in a hug.

After they’d finished the embrace, Paige looked into Anna’s pensive eyes. “Ready?”

Anna nodded, a smile forming on her lips. “Breathe deep, sister, and share the fresh air of freedom with as many of the people as you can.”

Chapter 5

The CDC’s news conference didn’t break any new ground as far as the average American was concerned. There had been other cases of Ebola-B reported across the country, so the announcement of a new, positively identified, victim in Atlanta wasn’t any big deal.

The officials reassured the semi-bored press corps that the individual had been isolated, the agency’s disease detectives executing what had now become a fairly common exercise in identifying all potential contacts.

Despite the U.S. Army’s siege of Houston, the occasional escape was bound to happen. A few of the news hounds were a little concerned when the CDC doctors reported that the infected individual swore he’d never traveled near the Texas epicenter, but victims had lied before. The last known example was a fisherman who had somehow managed to bypass the naval blockade of Galveston Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. When he surfaced in rural Louisiana, the old fellow claimed he hated Texas and had never so much as laid a foot in the Lone Star State. Three of his family members and he had all died of Ebola-B less than 10 days later.

Those closely monitoring the cable news networks became a little more apprehensive when less than two hours later a second possible case was identified in Boston. By the time the Eastern Seaboard was listening to the radio during the rush-hour commute home, panic was beginning to grip the upper echelons of government.

All that night, more and more reports continued to surface, hospitals, clinics, and emergency centers inundated with patients showing signs of infection.

Teams of medical specialists hustled to the Atlanta airport for outbound flights, their worried faces belaying what the CDC’s staff already knew. Ebola-B had somehow broken free from Houston and was now roaming the country at will. Everyone was aware the new strain was far more dangerous than the original version that had killed so many in West Africa. “It’s like comparing a nuclear warhead to a firecracker,” one epidemiologist had stated back when Ebola-B had first been discovered.

The president of the United States, surrounded by key members of his cabinet, was watching a wall of monitors. The White House situation room was capable of observing practically every public news source, as well as military and government communications. Despite the dozens of news displays, all eyes were focused on the private feed from the head of the CDC. The doctor’s solemn face managed to convey both fear and exhaustion at the same time.

“Mr. President, we’re losing. I don’t know how to say it any differently. This new strain has a much shorter incubation period and is transmitted in an airborne fashion. I expect us to be overwhelmed in less than 48 hours.”

“What happened to the optimism you expressed just last week, Doctor? What has changed since your last status report crossed my desk?” the chief executive demanded, his tone harsh and frustrated.

“Sir, we didn’t anticipate being attacked. No one here in Atlanta was prepared for the virus to be used as a weapon against our country.”

“What?” exclaimed the Commander in Chief. “What in the hell are you talking about, Doctor?”

“You’ve not been informed, sir? Our analysis of the outbreak’s spread leaves very little doubt that Ebola-B was intentionally distributed across our nation. Look at this map, sir.”

The screen changed, displaying a schematic of the United States. “This is a time elapsed depiction based on the virus’s maturity in confirmed patients. It is next to impossible for nature to have accomplished such simultaneous and widespread distribution.”

Small red circles began to appear on the map, Chicago, Dallas, Washington, and Los Angeles among the dozens of locations were Ebola-B reared its deadly head, all of the cases reported within 20 hours of each other.

“We can also perform a time-lapsed backward tracking, sir. I believe this next presentation will make the source of the attack quite clear.”

The visual refreshed, and then small red dots began to appear. Slowly, a spider web of crimson crawled across the country, the effect like a rose blooming in fast-motion. The epicenter, or bud, was clear - Houston, Texas.

“Those sons of bitches,” mumbled the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “We had intercepted a lot of HAM radio traffic these last five weeks. Our intelligence people thought something was up, but no one had any idea it would be anything like this.”

“Wasn’t there an incident just last week, General?” the President asked. “Some sort of attack on our forces?”

“Yes, sir. It was a large IED used against the wall. The 7
^th
suffered four causalities and the loss of a single tank. According to the local commander, his forces succeeded in capturing approximately 20 escapees.”

“What was the date?” asked the CDC’s head man.

The 5-star general turned and peered at a staffer and nodded, giving the subordinate permission to inform the gathering of the precise time and date.

“That matches perfectly,” the doctor announced after entering the parameter into his computer-generated model. “We’ve been attacked by our own people.”

The room fell quiet, everyone waiting for the president to speak. Before he could utter a word, one of the staffers noticed a new flash on one of the smaller monitors. “What the hell,” the aide muttered, pointing toward the screen.

Another staffer nodded at the man controlling the displays, and then the CDC physician’s image changed to a cable news station report.

“For the first time in months, we are receiving a direct contact from Houston, Texas. Approximately 15 minutes ago, our affiliate station in that city began uploading a pre-recorded video that we have now verified is authentic,” proclaimed the announcer.

The feed changed to a static-streaked, fuzzy image. An older man appeared, standing in front of a plain, whitewashed wall. “My name is Colonel Jack Taylor, United States Marine Corps, retired. At least I was retired. Most of you know that the President of the United States illegally quarantined my hometown of Houston, Texas. My fellow Houstonians have suffered badly as a result of this heinous act, millions upon millions dying painful, unnecessary deaths. It is the single greatest act of homicide in our nation’s history. In the past few months, our city has suffered more causalities than all of the armed forces of the United States in WWI and WWII combined.”