John Krygelski - The Aegis Solution

Elias did the same as they watched the hand, extended out from behind the corner, draw back to throw a grenade, both hoping a freak shot could hit the moving forearm and wrist before the hand released it.

Elias could not believe his eyes when he saw the grenade abruptly drop straight down. He knew that neither his nor Leah’s panicked firing had hit the target. Something else had happened because, just after the agent dropped the grenade, his body flew violently into their view. As he fell, his torso jerked repeatedly as he was struck with rounds from an automatic weapon positioned behind him. Seconds later, the grenade detonated, shredding the already dead agent and blowing the corners off the two walls.

From their vantage point, Elias, Tillie, and Leah saw more of Faulk’s men, who were wounded and stunned from the grenade, run, stagger, or fall into their view. They took advantage of the shooting-gallery situation to finish them off as they appeared. It was clear that there was gunfire coming from the right of the hallway where Faulk, Boehn, and his agents were sequestered, as they attempted to react to the new direction of the fight.

The rapid and deafening battle was short-lived, as Elias heard the unmistakable voice of Faulk shouting from around the corner. “DON’T SHOOT! DON’T SHOOT!”

Elias stood quickly, followed by Tillie and Leah, and they trotted to the end of the hallway, an intersection which had become a killing ground, with Faulk’s team as the victims. Elias peered carefully around the corner, not completely sure that their savior or saviors would not be equally disposed to shoot him. All of the black-garbed agents were dead or dying, including the wounded men from the earlier firefight and Killeen who had all been handcuffed in the open. Boehn lay against a wall, bloody and looking as if he had been tossed there by an angry giant. Faulk stood in the center of the corridor, raising his hands, and staring past Elias.

Elias switched his gaze to the right. It took him a minute to identify the two men walking toward him with huge grins plastered across their faces.

“Sweezea…Crabill!”

“Hello, Doc,” said Sweezea casually, his assault rifle perched jauntily on his shoulder. “How’s that AK-47 workin’ for ya?”

Tillie, hearing the names, ran around Elias. “Tim…Jay!” She ran straight up to Sweezea and threw her arms around his neck, almost knocking him down.

Leah had moved into the intersection, pointed her rifle at Faulk, and barked harshly, “Get down, you bastard! Facedown!”

Faulk did not hesitate, dropping to the floor in a prone position, his hands immediately laced behind his neck.

She turned and looked at her husband, jerking her head in the direction of the two men who had saved their lives, as they reached the group. “More friends of yours?”

Elias laughed, realizing that only a few moments ago, he had never dreamed he would have that pleasure again. “Yes, they are. And apparently Tillie’s, too.”

Crabill was standing back and grinning at Tillie, when he noticed the blood from the shrapnel injury. “Mathilda, you’re hurt!”

She glanced down at the blood. “No shit, Sherlock!”

He pulled his pack off his back and quickly removed the first-aid gear. “Come here. Let me take care of that.”

“It’s not bad. Take care of her first.”

He looked at Leah and saw the hastily applied bandage on her shoulder and the still-flowing blood coming from beneath it, and trotted to her.

Elias stepped nearer and took over the job of watching Faulk. Looking down at him, he snarled, “Got a good reason I shouldn’t just pop your skull with my boot right now?”

His voice muffled from being facedown on the floor, Faulk said, “I do. The vaccine. Even though you’ve won today, without it you die. All of you die.”

“Yeah? How soon?”

“The release is scheduled for midnight tonight.”

“Where? Spreading something like that takes multiple locations.”

“Not this bug. One will do. But we are releasing it at one location for each continent. A total of seven spots.”

“How fast, Faulk?”

“According to the computer models, three days…four tops.”

Elias was stunned and sickened by what he was hearing. Forcing his voice to be calm, he asked, “What’s the survivability rate? All viruses have one.”

“It isn’t a virus. It’s an engineered mycoplasma in a cocktail. It attacks several bodily systems. Shuts them all down. Creates massive hemorrhaging. Survivability is zero.”

“Transmitted?”

“It isn’t only transmitted in the air, it actually lives and thrives in it. It multiplies as it spreads. That’s what makes it so effective.”

“What kills it?”

Faulk’s tone, as he adjusted to the pattern of questions and answers from Elias, was becoming more and more conversational. “The usual. Extreme heat and cold. UV rays.”

“Don’t the UV rays from the sunlight scrub it out of the atmosphere?”

“It ebbs and flows. Sunlight kills it off when it is free-floating in the atmosphere. That’s why we are doing a night release. But the bugs which have already moved into the available humans are safe from the UV. Once the pathogen is in a host, it starts replicating itself rapidly; a large enough percentage will be emerging during nighttime to continue the cycle.”

“Your demented group is going to want to emerge from the rat holes you’ll be hiding in while the rest of the world dies. And I’m sure you won’t want to have all your future generations dependent on the vaccine. How are you going to get rid of it?”

“The first mechanism is that once there aren’t any more hosts….”

“You mean people.”

“Yes. Once all of the people are gone, the bug has nowhere to invade and multiply. We also built in a second mechanism, a fail-safe. The mycoplasma has been engineered with a preset life span and a preset number of generations it can reproduce. Then it goes sterile.”

During Faulk’s answers, Wilson had walked closer to listen. “Why would you do this?”

Hearing Wilson’s voice, Faulk turned his head to the side to look at him. “Why do you think, Chapman? Of all people, you should understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“The world has already gone to hell. You said so yourself in interviews. I believe your phrase was that the human race was ‘circling the drain.’ You must agree that the already bad cultures, societies, and governments in the world have gotten even more vile, despicable, and degenerate in the past one hundred years. And the best are infected and cancer-ridden, merely waiting to die. Isn’t that why you came to Aegis?”

“Sir, you and I may share some concerns about the path mankind has chosen, but I cannot fathom your precipitous course. I find it repugnant.”

“Do you now? And what would you propose? Oh, that’s right — running to Aegis and hiding in an overgrown atrium for the rest of your days, leaving behind you a society which might still benefit from your insights. No, I’m afraid, Chapman, that the human race reached a point similar to the Donner party. Either everyone dies a horrible death, or a few survive and can start again.”

“And you’ve appointed yourself as the selection committee for who lives and who dies?” As Wilson spoke, the rest of the group drifted over to make certain they did not miss the revelations.

“Actually, no. I was an invitee. The genesis for this plan came from within the halls of power.”

Elias interrupted, “The White House?”

Faulk sighed, as if he were tired of explaining himself to such dolts. “The White House and the Capitol. It doesn’t stop there. France is involved. Germany, Italy, China, and Japan. There are more than forty signatories on the compact.”