“That’s his natural skin color.”
“That’s too bad,” the sergeant major said nastily. “Now get in the truck. It’s not your concern.”
Luke clambered into the back of the truck and turned. “Why ain’t they coming with us?”
“They will be processed, dealt with by, ah, a different department,” he replied, when Luke heard two sharp rapports from a pistol echo around them.
The significance of the two shots hit Luke like a thump to the chest. He glanced back to see Sheila and the Asian slump to the ground in slow motion, after being executed. The sergeant major locked eyes with him and said. “Tough times, sir. Tough times.”
Luke flopped heavily onto a wooden bench between Jake, a sun-bleached surfer dude and an elderly, hefty African-American woman who shifted her bulk to make room. He finally spoke. “They… they executed two Americans in cold blood.”
Jake chuckled. “Duuude,” he made the word last three syllables, “Where have you been? This has been going on all day.”
Luke reacted doubtfully. “It’s true,” Winnie said. “It’s been escalating since it got dark — they’s killing on color. You can imagine they don’t gonna argue that. They came into the neighborhood ‘bout six just shooting randomly.”
Luke shook his head trying to absorb all the facts. “This can’t be happening? Word must be getting out, telephones, e-mail, twitter, they can’t possibly contain this monstrous news.”
“Jammed it all,” said Jake. “Something to do with the Patriot’s Act. We’re in lock-down, roads, airports, seaports and you’ve seen what they’re doing to the incoming flights.”
“Sure, I landed one of them.”
Jake eyed him doubtfully. “You’re a pilot?”
“It’s a long story.” He rubbed his aching arm and thought about the recent events. “How deadly is the contagion?” Luke asked.
Jake said. “From my own experience it’s one hundred percent.”
“Shit…” He looked at Winnie who nodded slowly.
The truck’s diesel engine rattled, and the wagon vibrated as it started. The driver crunched it into gear and pulled away.
“Still, we’re considered savable, ‘cause, you know, “Jake said. “They’re taking us to a, like, one giant refugee camp, where they’re gonna to treat us.”
“You’ll be lucky.” Luke scoffed.
“What do ya mean?” asked Jake.
“There is no cure, man.” He shrugged and let the message sink in. “So, why are they rounding us up?”
Luke heard rapid gunfire and saw from the back of the rumbling truck yet another execution squad dispatching more victims and his spirits sank.
Winnie said. “Why are they saving some and killing others?”
“Beats me, although…” Luke tailed off, not liking the thought, then continued. “Let’s say this disease is ninety-nine percent fatal. In this part of Florida we’re still talking about hundreds of survivors trying to escape. They can’t protect the borders indefinitely, and if word gets out about the indiscriminate killing, then there’d be mass panic and everyone left would try either to escape, or hide. My guess is they’ll act all friendly, make out there’s food and shelter and a cure at these refugee camps and, well, kill us all at once in a convenient, enclosed venue.”
“Duuude,” drawled Jake, “that is so sick.”
“It makes sense logistically. It’s what I’d do. And of course they need to consider the disease ridden corpses, how do you get rid of hundreds of thousands of dead bodies.”
Winnie snorted. “So you reckon they’ll take us to their version of a concentration camp where they’ll kill us systematically?”
“Yep, that’s about the truth of it,” Luke told his dazed companions.
01:30 AM
General Malloy’s entourage motored down the freeway unhindered. Although dark, he wore aviator sunglasses, sat up front of an open top jeep at the head of a procession of heavily armored vehicles. The convoy chugged from the freeway and approached the gates to the President’s summer residence, they slowed at the gatehouse that appeared un-manned and the entrance barrier pointed straight up in the air letting anyone into the President’s compound. “Sloppy,” snarled the General, “Very sloppy.”
The armored vehicles trundled under the barrier unchallenged. “This is the goddamn President’s home, and it’s been left unguarded.” He snatched a walkie-talkie. “Sergeant, take some men, find those damned sentries, and bring ‘em to me — no, scrub that — line ‘em up against the wall and shoot ‘em for dereliction of duty.”
“But, General…” came a hesitant reply.
“That’s all, Sergeant.” He switched off the walkie-talkie before further protest. He smiled when he saw in the rear-view mirror that a jeep near the back of the convoy veered off, performed a k-turn and went back to the guardhouse.
The sergeant yanked the jeep to a stop, by the illuminated guardhouse, “Serge, shouldn’t we be wearing one of those hazard material suits?” asked a nervous rookie.
The sergeant grinned. “Not this far up-country, soldier, we’re twenty miles north of the previous exclusion zone which was already fifty miles north of the outbreak, don’t sweat it, we’re safe.”
They strolled towards the guardhouse taking their time. “Serge, we got time for a quick cigarette?” asked the rookie.
The sergeant watched the general’s tail-lights disappearing down the avenue leading to the President’s home and nodded. “Make it quick, and I’ll have one.” He lit up and inhaled deeply, pondering the general’s instructions to shoot the errant guards. It sure was one major fuck-up to leave your post when you’re guarding the most important person on the planet, but to do it when a four star general is due to arrive? Jesus, that has to be the dumbest thing he had ever heard. He couldn’t wait to meet the pair of numb-nuts who were playing hooky. He took another puff on the cigarette keeping his eye on the brightly lit guardhouse.
Nope, still no sign of the idiot guards. The more he thought about it, the less bothered he felt about executing the fools. He ground out the cigarette butt underneath the sole of his heavy boot and marched towards the guardhouse. “C’mon, let’s go find these dopes.”
“You’re not really going to execute these guys, Serge?” Queried the rookie.
“Not me, Soldier, you are.” He grinned in the dark and watched the boy pale at this instruction. “These guys are too stupid to live. We’ll be doing them a favor, putting them out of their misery.” He booted open the door to the guard house and drew his weapon. The other soldiers did likewise. “Yo! Anybody here?” He waited for an answer then pointed at two of his colleagues and signaled for them to go on ahead.
Their training kicked in and they slinked on ahead hugging the walls, taking it in turns to cover open doorways, until they were in the control room, the rookie gasped as he saw the two blackened guards on the floor laying in a pool of thick blood and vomit. “Holy shit.”
CHAPTER 17
Sophie Garcia watched as the team of doctors finished their hourly battery of tests upon the President. She noticed the sly glances pass between them, and as a student of body language, she knew the results were not good. The President’s personal physician waved his assistants away. “Let’s give the President some room, he needs his rest.” He ushered them from the bedroom, and clicked his fingers towards Sophie including her in the room clearance.
“No,” said the President weakly. “She stays; I want to hear more of what we’re up against.”
The doctor spoke to the President gravely. “That would not be advisable, Mister President, you must have your rest.”
“I don’t have the luxury of rest. I’m still the goddamned President of the United States of America and will do my utmost to protect my beloved country right up until my final breath, do you hear me!” His face raged red. Shocked by his outburst, the men retreated as fast as they could.