“Hear me out before you decide — this is my area of expertise. Let me tell you about the Spanish influenza pandemic that swept the world in 1918 in places as remote as the Pacific Islands and the Arctic.” Quinn saw he was losing their attention. “During WW1 it was estimated that sixteen million men lost their lives due to the fighting; this flu epidemic in one year alone killed between fifty and one hundred million people worldwide, within months it had killed more people than any other illness in history.” The men sat upright and started to take notice. “More US soldiers died in one transit camp still on American soil than died in battle during WW1. In fact that one influenza outbreak was responsible for more casualties than all the wars of the 20th century put together.” Now he had them, thought Quinn.
“In that one year the average life expectancy in the USA dropped by twelve years.” He let that fact sink in. “To maintain public morale during those difficult war years the government of the day thought it prudent to censor the dire medical bulletins, which had a disastrous effect, as doctors and health officials could not identify the disease, each assuming they were dealing with a local epidemic not a global pandemic. As attentions were on the war effort no one knew the scale of the outbreak and when the government finally admitted to the havoc and sheer number of deaths the flu had caused, they were unprepared to deal with it — they had left it too late… let’s not make the same mistake.”
The military personnel stared at him in stunned disbelief. Hamilton smiled his reptilian grin, and as smooth as silk said; “I’m sure we’re all indebted to the Surgeon General for the interesting history lesson, but this is not the flu, we won’t be evacuating multi-millions of the population on a hundred year old possibility.”
“But—” Quinn said.
“No buts, Quinn. This is a terrorist attack, pure and simple. We’ll deal with it using the might of our military, with retribution on a scale not seen—”
“Should we not discuss this with NATO,” said Vice Admiral Reed. He smoothed an imaginary crease from his startling white uniform.
“We’re not attacking a foreign county, this is an American problem on American soil, and for once we can act without—” he made quote marks with his fingers, “‘Let’s open dialog and let’s have a vote’, crap. You know the usual delaying tactics of hostile nations.”
“Hear hear!” agreed the military leaders sat around the huge mahogany conference table.
“What are you suggesting, Mister Vice President?” Quinn Martell asked.
“That we stop pussy-footing around. We’ll go down there and wipe out the threat instantly with whatever it takes, no matter how unpalatable.”
“Are you suggesting killing Americans?” asked Quinn, fear etched onto his face.
“You know as well as I do, you shoot a rabid dog.”
“Yes, but—”
“It’s the humane thing to do.”
“Of course, but that’s talking about a dog—”
“And the virus dies with the host, does it not?”
The others around the table warmed to this, worrying Quinn Martell deeply, “Well, yes but—”
“Quinn, may I remind you, that you are here purely as a medical advisor. Kindly leave policy making to me,” the Vice President said nastily, putting Quinn Martell firmly in his place.
General Malloy backed the VP and jumped in. “The American public would thank us for saving them from this deadly threat.”
“What about the folk in Florida?” Quinn asked unable to stop voicing his opinion.
“Well, it’s just too bad.” Hamilton Parker replied. “Do you think the Floridian’s would give a rats-ass if it was happening in Alaska?” the assembled men murmured their agreement. “If you had a gangrenous limb you’d cut it off, simple as that, and, I’m afraid that’s what lower Florida has become. And the outcome won’t change, no matter how long we discuss it, the answer is the same, we need to amputate southern Florida.”
11:20 PM
Sophie blinked at the soldiers clad in their camouflaged hazardous material uniforms, confused by their sudden appearance at her door.
The Sergeant spoke with a metallic sound, the breathing apparatus distorting his voice. “Doctor Garcia? You must come with us.”
“I think there maybe some mistake.” She said hesitantly.
“You are, Doctor Sophia Garcia, correct?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“No mistake, ma’am. “We’ve been sent to escort you to President Burgess’s summer residence.”
“The President?” she repeated, thinking that she must be in a dream. “Why does he want me?”
“That information is above my security clearance level, ma’am. My orders are to make sure that you get there safely.”
Sophie’s stunned, “You are absolutely sure you have the right person?”
“Affirmative, ma’am. We’ve been instructed to guard you with our lives, because as of now, you’re the most important person in the State.”
12:30 PM
On the Boeing 777 flight 416 returning to Miami, Luke helped the fat man to lay comfortably in his chair-bed. He gazed around the cabin, noting that nearly all the business section passenger were showing symptoms of having the Black Death. Sheila Stone, the mature flight attendant, felt out of her depth. “What is going on? What am I meant to do? Too many passengers are sick,” she fretted to Luke.
He caught the eye of the only other passenger who looked unaffected, an elderly Asian man and went over to him. “How you doing, man?”
“I’m feeling OK, at the moment. What’s wrong with the other passengers? The flight attendant said it might be a virus, maybe a mild touch of the flu, but it looks worse than that.”
“Are you a medical man?”
“Not exactly, I’m a Red Crescent volunteer. It’s like your Red Cross; we go in some of the worst disaster areas in the world. I’ve seen death and disease many times, malaria, diphtheria, scarlet fever, all of these terrifying diseases, but nothing that disables so swiftly. They were all healthy when we boarded the aircraft, but I fear they won’t last the trip.”
“They won’t,” Luke told him in confidence.
The Asian leaned forward and whispered. “Do you know what it is?”
“I understand that it’s a new strain of the Bubonic plague.”
The Asian man muttered a silent prayer. “How can this be so? Is it a terrorist attack?”
“Nope.”
He pondered the information, and then said. “What are we going to do with the corpses? I know one is meant to distance oneself from the corpses?”
“Not a lot we can do, we’re in mid-air. But you and I appear to be immune. Some people are.”
“We must offer them aid. It’s the decent thing to do.”
“There is no aid. All the effected people will die. And it won’t be pleasant.” Luke shrugged, imparting this news.
“Is there nothing we can do to ease their suffering? We have to watch them die without lifting a finger? That is cruel beyond belief.”
“Well, I think we’ve got bigger problems.”
The Asian gulped and looked as if he did not want to hear further bad news, but still asked. “What, pray tell?”
At that moment, a young blonde flight attendant sneezed and was aghast to find that her eyes were bleeding. Luke nodded towards her. “The flight crew, or more importantly, the pilots.”
13:00 PM
Sophie sat next to the driver of the army jeep, accompanied by the sergeant in the rear. They drove up the I-95 interstate, traffic-free as each northbound entrance ramp had military roadblocks, whereas the opposite direction a never-ending convoy of military trucks. The Sergeant explained, from his seat in the back. “We’ve directed all the traffic south, all routes north are blocked.” He leaned forward. “We have a pass. You have special dispensation from the President himself, no less,” the sergeant told her, obviously impressed.