John D. MacDonald
Virus H
It can’t happen to us — but, brother, it’s going to. It has started. Walesville, Ohio, 30 miles from Portsmouth, was the first one. It will take a hell of a while because it’s a thorough job. It might not get to you for years. But it’s coming.
There were a little over 14 thousand people in Walesville. Plus, of course, those who were caught on their way through.
I’ve seen it. I don’t know when we’ll be printing pictures of it. But we probably will. And it will give you a hell of a jolt. I flew over Hiroshima back in September of ’45. I covered the Bengal famine in ’44 for AP. I once saw a pretty girl jump from a hotel window 23 stories above the concrete sidewalk. But I have seen Walesville. Compared to that, everything else I have ever seen has been like looking into the heart of a daffodil.
Just think of the arrogant stupidity of even our theories about the look and design of alien spacecraft — or about the construction of alien forms of life themselves. We assumed three-dimensional vehicles and three-dimensional forms of life.
Three years ago I left the Trib and went to Washington as a civil service A.T. 11. Administrative Technician. That’s a smoke-screen designation which means public-relations expert. Fourteen thousand a year. Up until a couple of weeks ago it was a fairly undemanding job. I put a high shine on some brass, put some sugar coating on some new agricultural regulations, made a few other bills more palatable.
Three weeks ago last Monday I was taken off a dull job and shunted over to the Pentagon. The Emergency Committee had just been formed by secret order of the President. An obscure young Air Force Major General named Klippe was chairman. He’d had something to do at one time with that saucer situation. And he had a good technical background. An extremely bright apple. There were five other men on the committee. Hassling, from the Institute of Advanced Studies, looking like a giant sloth. Ratty-looking little gray-haired Dr. Grinder from Cal Tech. Cold-eyed, tomb-faced Senator Swyth. Rear Admiral John Paul Plover of the CIA, incongruous tricky aluminum pipe stuck in his Boston bull mug. And lean one-legged Brigadier General Max Marker, strategy expert from the General Staff and Command School.
Klippe knew me, and he introduced me and explained my function. I was surveyed with the usual stony skepticism. They never love you until they need you. With various aides and technicians the committee staff totaled about 15. We were all gathered in a big conference room. Klippe had just started when I came in. He went back to the beginning.
“There’s no need to caution any of you people about security. You’re all cleared for top secret. This project is top secret and important.”
“It must be,” Grinder said dryly. “Military escort to the airport. I have not even a toothbrush.”
That brought a mild laugh. But Klippe didn’t look as if he had ever smiled in his life or ever would again.
“Briefly, gentlemen, here is the reason why this Emergency Committee has been brought together. A strange phenomenon has occurred near Walesville, Ohio. Original reports were not believed. A tongue-in-the-cheek article appeared in the Walesville paper. One of the wire services picked it up, gave it limited coverage. An Air Force officer investigated. He reported to me the day before yesterday, in the evening. I was at the spot at dawn yesterday. I had an audience with the President early yesterday morning. Regulars have been flown there and the area is blocked off. Rigid censorship has been imposed. We all leave for the spot by plane in half an hour.”
“I am afraid I will have to follow along later, General,” Senator Swyth said in his sepulchral voice.
“I am afraid, Senator, that you will have to come with us. It is the President’s wish.”
Swyth looked annoyed. “Just what is the nature of this — phenomenon?”
“I will not attempt to describe it. I will merely say, gentlemen, that it is an area where most of the fundamental laws of nature, as we know them, seem to be suspended and altered in random, unpredictable fashion.” There was a silence during which the stenotype operator clicked out his last few words. I looked at the technical experts, Hassling and Grinder. I saw sudden intense interest. It is an attribute of the large scale mind that it can achieve a suspension of disbelief without undue effort. Marker and Admiral Plover looked puzzled.
“It can be something new under the sun,” Klippe said. “It can be a weapon. It can be gone when we get there. The committee represents science, intelligence, defense and government. The President wants to know what it is, and wants valid recommendations as to what to do about it.”
It was not gone when we got there. Our military sedans were passed through the roadblock. It was a mile down a country road, in a pasture. The two farm families in the blockaded area had been evacuated. We all looked toward it as the light colonel in charge of the battalion reported to Klippe.
“No change, sir. The area hasn’t shrunk or grown any. The same screwy things go on, sir.” Grinder, purposeful as a ferret, had started to crawl between the rusty strands of the farmer’s fence. “Hey, you!” the light colonel shouted. Grinder paid no heed.
“Let him go,” Klippe said. “We’ll all go in and take a closer look.”
It was an area about 200 yards long, 100 yards wide and 50 yards high. There was an odd sheen to the air within that area. Things beyond it suffered subtle distortion. The limits were fuzzy rather than clear cut. It was a place that was just... not right. You could sense that. We were all quiet. You had the feeling that you should hear a sustained note of eerie music. But the day was warm and quiet. I heard wind in the leaves and a brook somewhere nearby.
Rocks floated aimlessly within the shining area. Some of them were half the size of a sedan. They moved about without purpose, like peas in boiling water, though much more slowly. From time to time one of them would fall heavily to the earth as though it had hit some pocket. Leaves and twigs and bits of grass floated in the area too. They would fall also, and just as quickly and solidly as the rocks. They fell as if they were in a vacuum.
“How did that soldier get in there!” Klippe snapped.
I hadn’t seen the body at first. It floated as did the rocks. It was a badly misshapen body, doubtless from the many times it had fallen. When a rock would fall it would imbed itself partially in the ground. After a minute or so it would begin to move, then drift free and join the others. When rocks touched in the air they rebounded without sound. When they fell they fell without sound.
The colonel looked uncomfortable. “I think it started bothering him. He wasn’t a very stable type, sir. It happened late yesterday, at dusk. He started yelling and ran toward it. He seemed to bounce off it a couple of times. Two other men nearly reached him but he... got through.”
“What happened to him then?” Hassling said.
“He... floated. I think he died immediately. We tried to get him out but we couldn’t reach him. We shoved a long pole in there with a grapple lashed to the end.”
“It went in easily?”
“Yes. But it... bent. I thought it was refraction, like when you put a stick into clear water. But when we brought it out, it was still bent.”
Hassling wanted to see it. We walked over. I could see Grinder standing with his hands behind him, a few yards from the disturbance, peering steadily at it. The colonel showed us the pole. It was of hard wood. It was bent sharply, neatly, geometrically, permanently. About a 20-degree bend.
Klippe let everybody get a good look at the area. He set up a field office in a command car, got everybody gathered around, and listed the experiments everybody wanted to try. Grinder and Hassling wanted equipment flown in. Klippe listed it. They both had a look of suppressed excitement. They wanted to measure temperature, surface tension, check for radioactivity, and for any waves or rays it might be emitting. General Max Marker said, “If it isn’t a weapon, I can at least see how it could be used as one. I’d like to drop some H.E. in there. I’d like to seal a tank and put a line on it and put a couple goats in it and drag it through there. I’d like to see some 20-millimeter tracer fired through it.”