“Only half of my staff turned in today,” said his boss. “I’ve never known anything like it. The ones that have turned up are dropping like flies.”
“I’m telling you, they’ve got the virus,”
“The authorities aren’t saying anything.”
“I told you what happened.”
“I did some checking,” said his boss. “It’s a bridge malfunction apparently.”
“Sure it is,” Luke said sarcastically. “Then why are troops guarding it?”
“To stop folk swimming across. There’s a dangerous alligator in there.”
“Uhuh. Have you dispatched anyone to the island yet?”
“Look, Homeland Security’s on it. We can’t use it.”
“You ain’t gonna broadcast a worldwide sensation?” Luke felt himself getting angry as his boss stonewalled him, trying to cover his sorry ass. “Show some balls. It’s a worldwide scoop.”
“You want me to go up against the might of Homeland Security? You seriously want me to risk my job on YOUR hunch? Remember last time?”
“OK, so I called it wrong last time—”
“But that was a doozy. I nearly lost my job the last time I played one of your hunches. It’s not going to happen, Luke. Not without more evidence.”
“By the time you wait for the evidence everyone else will have the story.”
“That’s it. Enjoy London, Luke.”
“Boss, do me a favor,” Luke calmed himself, knowing he’d lost this round, and changed tack. “Go home. The only way to survive this virus is to isolate yourself from other people.”
His boss noticed the change in Luke’s tone and took him seriously. “And does this new virus have a name?”
He sighed deeply, knowing what his boss’s reaction would be. “It ain’t a new virus; it’s an old one, a very old one… the Bubonic Plague.”
07:30 AM
Sophie drove up the I-95 interstate in her rented jeep, as hers was still upon the island. She was on her way to visit the Seminole Native-Americans at their reservation, for their monthly consultations. These were the purists, who still lived on the land, shunning their more famous cousins with their casinos, gift shops and alligator wrestling. They despised them for selling out, and dressing like fools, acting as if they were cast members at Disney World. They preferred the quiet and solitude of the old ways, and Sophie enjoyed meeting with them and hearing of their folklore and traditions. She’d been particularly surprised to find that they had taken in and welcomed the freed slaves, who had made their way down south to Spanish Florida and allied themselves to the Seminole, who called them, ‘Maroons’.
She turned onto Interstate 75, known locally as Alligator Alley. She cruised along for some miles enjoying the wind in her hair, as it was another scorching day. She thought about the events of the day before. She steeled herself for the telephone call that she had to make and voice dialed her car-phone, “The Surgeon General,” she said with a confident voice, a confidence that she did not feel. She could be about to make the biggest mistake of her life, or if correct she would prevent a major outbreak. She had no choice; she had to warn Quinn Martell.
The Surgeon General glanced at the caller ID and beamed. “Doctor Garcia, how lovely to hear from you. Is this a social call?”
“I wish. No, we have a problem, here in Miami.”
“Tell me?” He asked, wondering how she knew.
“There has been an outbreak centered at the Good Samaritan hospital.”
“I have been hearing snippets. How do you know?”
“I was there.”
“My God… are you feeling OK?” he asked genuinely concerned.
“I appear to be immune, but at least fifty people have died of a virulent strain of the Bubonic Plague. Yet there is nothing on the news, no warnings or anything. My question to you is, why not?”
“Sophie, you always were my favorite pupil, no preamble — straight to the point.” He smiled at the memory. “Well, up until you called, I’ve had no official notice. Homeland Security is in charge and playing it close to their chests. The rumor is that they think it’s a chemical attack.”
“Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “It has all the symptoms of the Bubonic Plague — the Black Death, but this time it is also pneumonic — it’s airborne.”
“OK, let me see what I can find out. Thank you for the heads up. I’ll call you back.”
Quinn Martell hung up and pursed his lips. He knew that Sophie would not phone without cause. She had been one of the brightest students he had ever had the privilege to teach and she was now one of the foremost experts in the field of contagious diseases, with a fondness for the historic plagues of Europe. In fact, she had always insisted that the plague would return one day, a notion for which he had gently chided her. He prayed to god that he would not be wrong. He’d do some digging. He had some old pals in the Homeland Security, he would try to winkle out information, then call the President, the sooner he acted the better.
Fifteen minutes later he made a scrambled telephone call to the President. “With reference to the viral outbreak in Florida, we believe we know what it is.”
“Hit me with it.”
“The Black Death.”
“The Black Death?” He chuckled. “You mean the Bubonic Plague? You’re kidding me, right? I mean, that was eradicated years ago.”
“Or, so we thought. This is a new strain. In fact, according to the World Health Organization this is long overdue.”
The President sucked in oxygen through a hand-held mask attached to a bedside cylinder. He shuddered, taking in the news.
Quinn continued on video-link and paced his office. “The WHO knew that it was never a matter of IF a virus would cause a worldwide pandemic, it was more a matter of WHEN.” Quinn gazed out of his office window watching the world go by. Folks were on their way to work without a care, going about their daily business, not realizing the horror about to be unleashed upon mainland America. He continued. “It’s arrogant of man to think we can continue breeding at this rate without paying the consequences.”
“What do you mean?”
“The world’s population has increased by a billion since 1999, by four billion since 1960.”
“You’re kidding?”
“It’s more than doubled in our lifetime.”
“And what is the optimum level?”
“Around the four billion mark.”
“And what’s the figure now?”
“Over seven billion.”
“And our resources are already in short supply.”
“Exactly, this is nature’s way of reversing that trend, culling the herd.” The President sucked in more oxygen, as Quinn continued. “Last time, the Black Death wiped out over two hundred million people and that was at walking speed, now we’ve got airplanes trains, automobiles. The way the population is crammed together on this over-populated planet this virus will encircle the globe in days.”
“My God…”
“Of all known species to have ever lived on this planet of ours, ninety-nine point five percent have been wiped out — survival of the fittest, et cetera.” He took a deep breath and continued. “Another way of looking at it is if you took the history of the globe as a twenty-four hour clock, man appears at one minute to midnight, our future is far from assured.”
“But we’re talking about an ancient disease?”
“Precisely. Do you know how many doses of antidote for the Black Death we have here in the United States?”
“Surprise me.”
“None.”
“None?”
“That’s how much we have dismissed this virus. We did not think it necessary.”
“My… god.”
“And on top of that, this is a new strain.”