The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga (34 page)

“Yes, sir,“ Brenda said.
 
"From what we can tell, it seems the southeastern part of the country is undergoing the first wave of antigen drift.
 
Georgia…”
 
She sifted through her papers.
 
"I've got reports here from Georgia, South Carolina, Kentucky—"

Director Stylau nodded, then spoke up again, interrupting her: "Mr. President, I think I may be able to shed some additional light on the situation here.”
 

"Oh?" said the President.

"Yes, sir.
 
We've been tracking North Korean agents spread throughout the country—sleepers, if you will—that have been activated.
 
These infiltrators have been trying to spread the original weaponized form of the flu in pockets of the country that haven't been directly exposed."

"My God," breathed the President.
 
"You're saying these bastards are sneaking around the back roads and suburbs trying to infect even more people?
 
Why the hell wasn’t I informed?”

"That's exactly what's happening, sir,” he replied.
 
“I’ve had my people working on this since Day One.
 
We caught a surprising number of them, I’m pleased to say.
 
They're being detained and questioned—"
 

President Harris raised a hand to stall Stylau.
 
"This is something I don't want to know about, isn’t it?”

He looked at the President without expression.
 
"Probably."

“Director Stylau, I don't see how this relates to the data…” said Brenda.

“It’s relevant, Major,” Stylau said, eyebrows climbing his forehead, “because I have an agent who recently tracked down and…"
 
The Director shot a wary glance at the President.
 
"
Handled
…a North Korean agent in the town of Brikston, Kentucky."

Brenda's eyes opened in surprise.
 
"You’ve got a man on the ground in Kentucky?
 
What kind of conditions is he reporting to you?
 
Has he seen—"

Director Stylau leaned back in his chair.
 
"I must admit, I haven't asked him about the flu.
 
I was concerned with more pressing matters,” he said.

Brenda swallowed and nodded.
 
What was more pressing than the spread of a virus that had the potential to wipe out mankind?
 
"Of course, sir.
 
I just meant…that is, any data that you could provide would go a long way toward helping us determine what we’re up against."

"Adrian, if you've got anything—get it to Major Alston as soon as possible,” the President said.

Stylau nodded.
 
“Of course.
 
I have a secure link to my agent.
 
If you'd like, we can talk to him right now and get some answers for you."

Brenda fixed President Harris with a pleading look.
 
He closed the folder in front of him and nodded.
 
"Very well.
 
Let's pull it up on the screen," the President said, gesturing for a staffer to utilize the large wall monitor behind him.

It only took a few moments before the screen came to life and a dialog box appeared requiring a secured-authorization login.
 
Director Stylau got to his feet and ponderously shambled over to the computer terminal.
 
"There," he said at last, "that ought to do it."

Conversation stopped and everyone turned to face the wall screen.
 
A fuzzy image of a darkened room appeared, intermittently racked by lines of static.
 
A series of colored bars in the upper half of the screen indicated very poor signal strength.

"Adrian, how are you able to get a connection at all?" asked President Harris.

Director Stylau laced his fingers over his significant paunch.
 
"I don’t understand all the details myself, sir—but we’ve been working hard around the clock to make this available to other agencies.
 
It’s—"

"Here we go,” Secretary Thaler said, pointing at the screen.

A shadow appeared on the far wall of what looked to be a hotel room.
 
The image stabilized even further and Brenda could actually see a generic painting of a pastoral scene hanging above a disheveled bed.
 
The shadow moved and someone’s blurry face filled the screen.

"Sir?" the man asked.
 
Uncertainty riddled his voice.
 
He looked like he’d just survived a car accident—he had one black eye and several purple and yellow bruises on his neck.
 
A cut, which looked painfully deep, angled across his forehead, crusted with dried blood.

Clearly this man had seen fighting of some sort.
 
Recent fighting.
 
Whatever happened looked to have taken place at least a day or two in the past judging from the injuries on his neck and face.
 
It looked like he had been in a fight for his life.
 
Despite that, he exuded the same calm confidence that Cooper seemed to possess.
 

She shouldn’t have thought of Cooper.
 
Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt the worry that she had been suppressing all day suddenly flare back to life.
 
She wouldn’t be able to relax until he was safely back in Denver.
 

Brenda struggled to clear her thoughts and focus on what the agent was trying to say.
 
“…pretty bad here, sir.
 
When I first arrived—I wouldn’t say that things were great—but they were better than this."
 
The man shook his head sadly.
 
"I grew up here, Mr. President.
 
I can't describe to you how hard it is to see everyone in this town who survived the Great Pandemic pull what was left of their lives back together, only to watch so many of them get sick all over again.”

“I understand your grief, son, believe me—I do."
 
The President replied.
 
"I don't mean to rush you, but we’re a little pressed for time here…"

The young man on the screen stiffened.
 
"Of course, Mr. President.
 
What I was—”

“Just tell the President what you told me in your last report,” said Director Stylau.
 
“I think that will suffice for now."

"Yes, sir.
 
I arrived in Brikston about a month ago—after we received actionable information that an NKor sleeper was about to appear on scene.
 
I grew up here, sir, so it was perfect for me.
 
I reestablished myself in town and began gathering those I could trust around me.
 
I stayed under deep cover.
 
I was able to swing public opinion against the man we suspected of being an NKor agent.
 
Two days after he arrived in town, people began getting sick.
 
We captured and interrogated him to find the delivery device—turns out he had been surgically implanted with an explosive release mechanism.
 
Very messy.
 
Wiped out almost the entire hospital staff.”

"May I ask a question?" Brenda called out.

"I think—" began Director Stylau.

"Of course, Major.
 
Ask away," interrupted President Harris.

"Thank you, sir.” Brenda said.
 
She shifted her attention to the screen.
 
"What did you mean when you said people began getting sick two days after the NKor agent arrived in town?
 
Can you describe their symptoms to me?"

The agent nodded.
 
"Yes, ma'am.
 
Typical flu-like symptoms—people began complaining of aches and pains, fevers that intensified throughout the day—“

“How bad were the fevers, do you know?” she asked.

The man on the screen frowned.
 
“Most of them peaked a little over 100° or 101° according to the hospital records I was able to see—only a few people had to be hospitalized at first.
 
Brikston is a small town, so we don't have more than a few nurses and a couple doctors at the community hospital.
 
I stayed in touch with Police Chief Murray and helped organize transport to the hospital for people feeling ill.
 
Almost all the cases were quickly referred to home care."
 
The young man paused while Brenda scribbled notes on her pad.
 
She looked up and he continued.
 
“A few days later, we had our first death.
 
She was a teacher at the school…”

Oh, my God, all those children must have been infected.
 

“I sent some samples back to Langley for analysis—"

“You don't need to go into details about this process.
 
Suffice it to say, Major," Stylau said with a guarded look in Brenda's direction, "we were able to ascertain that the sickness infecting the town of Brikston was indeed the weaponized form of the flu that the North Koreans had used in California and New York."

"That's right," the agent affirmed in a soft southern drawl.
 
"By the time we were able to…"
 
His eyes shifted and came to rest on the head of the CIA.
 
“…handle the situation most of the town had taken sick and was in bed."

"Everything you're telling me seems to be in line with the weaponized strain.”
 
Brenda spoke quickly—she had a hundred questions to ask but knew she’d only have time for a few.
 
“Can you tell me when you started noticing changes?
 
When did people become sicker?"

The agent nodded.
 
"Yes, ma'am.
 
Just in the last couple of days we've noticed not only an increase in the number of people who’ve come back to the hospital and that they’re much sicker than before.
 
Higher fevers, a deep, racking cough, discharge from the nose, and in some cases…cyanosis."

Brenda took it all in without reaction, writing furiously on her notepad.
 
"Any increase in fatalities?" she asked without looking up.

She could hear the sadness in the agent's voice.
 
"Yes, ma'am.
 
We had a handful of people pass in the time I’ve been here.
 
But in the last 48 hours, we’ve had 28 deaths.
 
Brikston only has a couple thousand people.
 
I'd say there's only a couple hundred folks left standing on their feet at this point.
 
Almost every doctor and nurse we had is sick and most probably won't make it through the night."

Brenda looked up from her notes and regarded the man on the screen with a clinical stare.
 
Other than the beating he’d taken, the agent seemed fine.
 
"You seem to be in fairly good health.
 
How are you feeling?"

The agent cleared his throat and glanced at Director Stylau.
 
“I’ve felt worse.”

Brenda squinted critically at the man on the screen.
 
“Did you get sick during The Pandemic?”

“Yes, ma’am, I got it pretty bad—I barely survived.
 
I figure that gives me some sort of immunity against this… Right?"
 
He looked at Director Stylau again.

"What happened to your face, son?" asked the President.

"After we, ah, took care of the NKor sleeper, one of the people I trusted turned on me."
 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Brenda said.

The agent shrugged.
 
"This flu, it'll do things to you ma'am.
 
This is like the early days of the Blue Flu.”
 
He looked off-camera.
 
“Brikston's turning into a real ghost town.
 
Can't find too many people walking the streets anymore.
 
No food on the shelves, no restaurants open…”

“Mr. President, is there anything we can do to help those poor people?” asked the Secretary of State.

“With all due respect, sir, those that’re too sick to get out of bed better start making peace with the Lord…”
 
The agent looked genuinely upset.

Brenda nodded.
 
“He’s right.”
 
Everyone turned away from the screen to look at her and she felt her breath catch in her throat.
 
“If they don't have anybody to take care of them, they’ll probably starve to death over the next week.
 
It’s the same pattern from ten years ago.”

"My God," said the President, “this is terrible.“

Brenda cleared her throat.
 
"Sir, as much as I wish I could tell you otherwise, it’s going to get worse.
 
I feel I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t explain to you the danger we face at this point."
 
She tried to ignore the faces watching her.
 
“What he’s describing to us right now is a classic antigen drift scenario.
 
Things will get exponentially worse if we see an antigen shift."

"An antigen
shift
?" asked the President.
 
“Like during The Pandemic?”

Brenda nodded.
 
“Sort of.
 
In a shift scenario, the virus mutates so much that the body can't recognize it as a threat it’s encountered before.
 
In effect, the immune system becomes completely exposed and vulnerable.
 
If, by some lucky happenstance, the person is able to survive and fight off the virus, those genetic markers would then be tagged and remembered.
 
But…as we saw with the Great Pandemic, it underwent a series of significant drifts and was enough to nearly depopulate entire countries without ever progressing to a true
shift
.”