Independence Day Plague Read online

  Geller asked, “The MPs are sick?”

  “Clark said they have headaches and a little nausea. It sounds like hangovers to me. Everyone was knocking back drinks pretty hard last night.” Stegan replied.

  “Even the guard last night? That’s pretty unusual.”

  “Last night was a very unusual night around here. Clark didn’t note who was suppose to be on duty.” Stegan snapped, “Look, Ray, before you start cross-examining me, give me time to figure out what the hell’s going on.” He joined Barnes in the electric cart. The two men watched them leave.

  Mitchell turned to Geller, “He’s probably right. The MPs were there and drinking a lot. We all did. Even Katy woke up with a headache and she didn’t drink at all.”

  Geller nodded, “Yeah, we’ll see.”

  Three hours later, Mitchell stood at the entrance of the auditorium and watched the ninety odd people shift from cluster to cluster among the seats in the auditorium. Normally a relaxed place for movies and events, the buzz of distressing questions and too few answers filled the room. Dressed in an old but formal blue suit rather than the earlier jeans and t-shirt, Stegan finally walked across the stage and shouted for folks to take their seats.

  “Many of you have noticed that both the front and back gates are locked. As of yet we don’t know why they’re barred. Some of you also have noticed that the land-based phone lines are down and the hypernet is offline. As of nine-thirty, we still have internal email connections. Many of the cell phones show no service.” The silence erupted into a roar of voices. Stegan waved for silence.

  “There's no cause for alarm. As most of you know, we’ve always had bad com-unit and cell phone reception here. That’s why we don’t use them very much.” A few nervous chuckles echoed back at him. The fact rang true. The isolated base lacked access to the few towers throughout the sparsely settled state. For internal communications, most folks used the landlines or the fancy walkie-talkie style internal cell phones assigned to everyone. Those phones failed after a mile away from the base.

  Stegan continued, “However, anyone with working cell phone, please see me after this meeting.” The murmuring grew again. A few took out their little flat boxes, checking for signal. No volunteers stood up.

  “What about the emergency phones?” The voice came anonymously from the back. The red emergency lines had been installed only in the commander’s office and the hospital wing. They led directly to the Pentagon to report any threat of biohazard leak. Other than the once a month scheduled test, they were never touched.

  “The red lines are dead too.”

  A few gasps were audible and Jenny Landergren whispered, “oh my God” next to Mitchell. He frowned. Those lines were satellite-based, secure phones, not as easily cut off as cell phone frequencies. Something was terribly wrong.

  “So we’re cut off?” Clark shouted.

  “It’s standard procedure to cut the red lines in a move. Someone has simply jumped the gun a bit at the Pentagon offices. In three days, we’re scheduled to be totally shut down. Folks, I know this looks bad but there are logical explanations. We’re ghosts at a ghost base about to step back into mainstream life. You knew through all your careers how secret this base was. We’re shifting everyone out the next few days. I’m sure this is a precaution that’s part of the Moving Day events.” Stegan attempted an ah-shucks grin. “We all know how fanatical the military can be about security. Someone's just being enthusiastic about following the normal procedure for shutdown. The first trucks will arrive around noon to start moving families. We need to sit tight and wait it out.”

  “What if something happened on the outside?” Jenny yelled. “How do we know anyone’s coming?”

  Stegan sighed, “We’re still receiving radio and televideo signals coming in. I haven’t paid that much attention to the morning news but I haven’t heard of any major event anywhere on the outside. Has anyone else?”

  A general murmuring filled the crowed. If anyone had invaded North Dakota, it was still a secret to national news and InterRadio.

  “Honestly folks, I’m not sure what’s going on but I believe that this is simply standard procedure in shutting down BL-4. We’ll get a detachment of men to turn off the electricity at the outer fence so we can leave if we need to. However, I want to stress that our primary task here is still the products and their related support material.”

  No one liked to use the phrases germs, bacteria or virus. Whether from security reasons, or mental complacency, the standard procedure was to refer to the vials of active cultures as “product,” vaccines as “shots” and the antidotes as “safety nets.” The staff rarely used the vaccine’s nickname. No one felt moral qualms about developing them.

  Stegan continued, “We checked the cryo-units this morning. I saw no evidence of any leak or contamination. Therefore, we’ll continue to monitor the product until the containment units are loaded and moved out the gate. The freezer units are operating just fine. Sergeant Tanaka, do you have anything to add to this that might shed some light?”

  Tanaka, head of the security guards, stood ramrod straight in his pressed army uniform. His jaw tightened as Stegan gestured towards him. “Yes, sir. Private Jergans had duty from midnight to six a.m. and he's now AWOL. Private Sheppard reported the locked gates after he tried to relieve Jergans. We are still searching for Jergans.”

  “Okay, see me after the meeting.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jenny stood up, waved her hand until Stegan saw her, and pointed. “Daryl, what about food?”

  “Sorry, Jenny, I’m not following you.”

  “You said we just need to wait a while. I’m almost out of food at my house.” Low murmurs rose again as she continued. “We’re supposed to be moving today and we didn’t want to shift a bunch of canned goods so we’ve eaten everything up.” Sounds of assent and “us too,” sounded through the hall. Jenny continued, “I wanted to go to Dawson today to get us a few more things.”

  Mitchell frowned as he listened to the discussion. It made sense and Caroline probably had done the same, as had most of the families judging by the nods and comments he heard.

  Stegan shouted again, “Okay, everyone settle down. We still have some supplies in the commissary and can go back to making large meals in the mess hall if necessary. God knows there are probably tons of leftovers from last night’s party.” That earned him a few smiles and chuckles. “Those families that need help right away should contact my office. Jeanine’s there already and can help out.” Jeanine Iverson, Stegan’s assistant, worked as a powerhouse of fierce efficiency that was totally opposite Stegan’s laidback manner. “The caterers are still here. Maybe they can whip up another wonderful meal. Anyway, don't panic. I know the events seem strange but I’m sure there are perfectly good reasons for what’s going on. The gates will be open soon and then anyone who needs to go to Dawson, can. In the meantime, it’s business as usual. Are there any other questions?”

  The room quieted down as folks exchanged looks and slowly started to get to their feet.

  “I have one question.” The voice called out from in the back. Mitchell saw Ray Geller easing himself through the crowd filling the aisle way as he moved towards the front.

  “Yeah Ray, what is it?”

  “Has anyone checked the sample stores this morning? Not the containment vessels but the actual product itself?” The stores, vial after vial of biological agents, their corresponding vaccines and antidotes sat packed away in battery-operated cryo-units, ready for transport. The units themselves received their power from sockets in the large walk-in freezer. Once off base power, the cold levels normally lasted a week as long as no one opened them. Other than checking that the cryo-units remained sealed, no one wanted to crack them open.

  “Opening them up causes too much coolant loss.” Stegan’s voice changed from folksy to a harder edge.

  Ray stopped in front of the stage and turned to the crowd. “Let me ask another question then. Does anyone i
n your family feel sick this morning?” Ray continued, “Any headaches, sore throats, or fevers?”

  People shifted uneasily, glancing at each other. Clark shouted out, “That’s just hangovers, man!”

  “Is it? Do you normally get fever with a hangover? One of my kids has a fever and a raw throat. Two others complain of headaches and none of them drank alcohol last night.” Mitchell saw Sarah, four seats away turn pale.

  Stegan spoke levelly, “What are you suggesting, Ray?”

  “I’m saying that there seems to be a lot of sick people now, days before we leave. I can count on one hand the number of times a flu or cold has hit the people in this base in the last ten years. We’re so isolated that we don’t usually get sick and yet, coincidentally many of the families here have at least one member who is sick now. It seems like odd timing to me.”

  “You’re saying they poisoned us?” Jenny’s hand fluttered to her throat. She turned wide eyes to Stegan. “Why would they do that?” The voices rose in alarm.

  “No one’s poisoned here!” Stegan roared over the clamoring voices. “Folks, there are simple explanations for each of these events. The cryo-units remain sealed and undisturbed. Maybe one of the caterers had a flu bug and simply didn’t wash his hands. I suggest we move on to solving some of the concrete problems in front of us instead of creating imaginary ones” He glared at Geller who looked unmoved.

  “Well, I’d like permission to reopen one of the med labs and take a throat culture from my daughter. At least then we’ll know if we need to pass out antibiotics to people or not.”

  “Fine,” Stegan spat the word out. “For now, everyone go back to your homes and relax.”

  As he joined the others filing out of the small auditorium, Mitchell felt a gentle tapping on his arm. Silently, Geller gestured to the coffee room around the side of the administration offices. Stegan’s office was on the other side of a common wall. When they entered, they could hear his baritone voice raised in a muffled conversation.

  Geller was one of the five medical doctors on the base as well as being a PhD in genetics. He sat on the edge of the table and lit a cigarette. Mitchell grinned and gestured at the “no smoking” sign behind Geller’s head. “I didn’t think anyone smoked any more. Most folks consider that stuff contraband now.”

  Geller shrugged and replied, “I get a carton mailed into Dawson City once in a while.” He looked over his shoulder and chuckled too. “Not much point to rules now,” he said quietly. “It’s a stress habit from graduate school. I’d start smoking before finals and quit right afterwards.”

  “Graduate school was a long time ago,” Mitchell replied.

  “Now it’s before and after major inspections and when shit like this happens.” He gestured towards Stegan’s voice. “I was up to a pack a day when you were infected and we were waiting to see if you’d live or die.”

  “They didn’t lock the gates then?” Mitchell asked. He remembered very little about his brush with biological death five years prior.

  Geller looked grave and shook his head. “We didn’t notify anyone or follow contamination procedure. We didn’t want the brass here. We were afraid of them shutting us down then. Stegan thought we had it contained since we isolated you right away. If you had died, well, it would have been a different matter then.”

  Mitchell nodded and then drew in a long breath. “Do you really think that…?”

  “That we’ve been poisoned?” Geller shrugged and took another puff. “Not as such, no. If it had been a poison, none of us would ever have woke up. Contaminated? Now that’s a different idea all together.” He sat silent, blowing out puffs of smoke as he thought. Mitchell knew from long years of working together that Geller never said anything off the cuff. He thoroughly considered each word before he spoke. Finally, Geller continued in a low voice. “Have you received any information about your new life? Any new names or even a location?”

  Mitchell shook his head. “They gave us options and the preference sheet to fill out but everyone got those.”

  “Me neither. Yet here we are, two days or less from departure, less for some and we don’t even know where we are going. Some are scheduled to leave today and yet no one I asked has gotten their future assignments. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I don’t think they ever intended to move us on.”

  “No, that can’t be right, Ray. Why all this charade and the big party last night?”

  “To avoid panic? To keep us feeling secure? I don’t know. But consider this, none of us, not even our kids really exist anymore. We stopped living to the outside world the moment we first crossed the gates for this project. We research, but don’t publish. We rarely travel. We’re allowed to go to conferences only with an undercover escort. Even if the base shut down tomorrow, it would be weeks, if not months, before Dawson City would know the ‘Army Satellite Station’ was gone. None of them would care enough to investigate.”

  “You’re wrong. What about bank accounts, credit cards, food cards, social security numbers, driver’s license and all those bits of paper identity we have to have for society? They don’t just disappear.”

  “When did you last apply or update any of those?”

  Mitchell shrugged, “I didn’t have to. We bank through the military credit union. I think everyone does. The military also took care of the yearly paperwork. That way our work wouldn’t be interrupted.”

  Geller smiled sadly, “Yes, the great work. It was convenient for them to constantly renew our paperwork for us. It helped them keep us hidden.”

  Mitchell snorted, “Ray, I know the military isn’t your favorite subject but don’t you think you’re being overdramatic here?”

  “When was the last time you checked your credit rating?”

  Mitchell shrugged. Caroline took care of those things.

  Geller pulled a small folded paper out of his pocket. The printout was from an Internet credit service. The names and social security numbers of all of Geller’s family ran down the page. The bold-faced wording stood out against each name, “unknown person, number inactive or not assigned.”

  Mitchell stared at the sheet. “Those numbers are assigned at birth.”

  “Yes,” Geller replied, “and despite what it says, I have cards, records, proof that each of those numbers are valid codes.”

  Mitchell handed the paper back. “I’m sure it’s a screw-up in the records because of the new identities.”

  “Really? Like most people on an isolated base becoming sick at almost the exact same time?”

  “When did you check the numbers?”

  “Two days ago. I wanted to know how much we’d get for a loan on a new house."

  “But our bank accounts are still good?”

  “Mine was as of yesterday. I haven't checked today. But, think, Jim. All of the official records link to social security numbers. All those processes of school records, driver’s license, food cards—all of them go through the government in some way or link to government numbers. That’s why we’ve assumed the move would be so easy. The numbers stay the same but the government somehow changes the names on the accounts. Something's happening here, something dangerous. If you get the chance to leave, pack up Katie and Caroline and go. Don’t worry about your house or your belongings. Don’t notify anyone. Don’t hesitate one minute to walk out that gate once it’s open. If everything’s okay, the government paperwork can catch up with you once you’re surrounded by people. Keep going until you find a city big enough to get lost in. It may very well be your last chance.”

  Noon came and went. The base stayed silent and locked down. The cessation of sound weighed heavily on the entire block around Mitchell’s house. No kids sloshed through the mud or yelled in play. No phones rang or family members chatted while walking the lanes. Everyone hid behind locked doors and shuttered windows.

  Katie and Caroline moved slowly, complaining of aches while finishing the last of the packing. Feeling claustrophobic among all the boxes, Mitchell walked the
base streets with no particular direction in mind. No traffic moved anywhere on the base. The inactivity of the afternoon left him feeling depressed. The small base communicator chimed in his pocket, making him jump. Feeling foolish, he took the comma-shaped device and plugged it into his ear.

  Geller spoke without preamble. “Come to the front gate.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

  Mitchell turned and retraced his steps through the neighborhood. The cold crisp air warmed up to the high forties and the sky was deep blue without a cloud in sight. The nightly occurring ice had thawed, already leaving muddy water behind. Mitchell dropped his overcoat at the house before setting out on the short walk to the gate.

  A small crowd of twelve people had gathered near the ten-foot mesh, many of them dressed in heavy coats for an arctic blast rather than a spring thaw. Mitchell noted two or three faces looking flushed more than normal. Four base electric cars sat parked along one side of the road. The brown hills beyond the gate looked colored with the fuzz of new green grass that would carpet the land in another month. There was not a car, farmhouse, or even barn in sight beyond the fence, just rolling hills and the occasional lone tree.

  Mitchell sidled up to Geller. When he faced the man, he couldn’t help but notice the flushed skin. “What’s up?’

  “Tyler traced the electric fence lines back to the cut-off inside the base. They turned it off about ten minutes ago. We’re going to try to open the gate now.”

  Stegan and Barnes stood in front of the gate, the crowd forming a horseshoe around him. Stegan gestured towards the fence, “Okay, Tyler, forget the lock and chain. Let’s just cut a damn hole big enough for a car and worry about the rest later.”

  Dressed in the army camouflage, Barnes brown skin glistened with sweat in the cool breeze. Laser tool in hand, he applied the thin bright light to cutting the fence links. By the third link, his head jerked backwards, exploding in crimson. One of the women started screaming. Blood and bits of gray matter had sprayed across her face. Barnes sprawled face up in the mud, and a growing puddle of blood spread quickly from what was left of his forehead.