William Johnstone - The Doomsday Bunker

May 24

“In other news, there are unconfirmed reports that North Korea conducted further missile tests today. The missiles involved in these tests are said to have the potential to reach the continental United States. With the recent increase in North Korea’s nuclear development, these reports have caused grave concern in some circles in Washington, but the President, in a statement today, referred to that concern as ‘fear-mongering’ and said that there is no reason to believe North Korea may be considering aggressive action, despite heightened tensions with South Korea and the U.S.”

As a commercial came on for the season finale of Singing for Dollars , Patrick Larkin picked up the remote and pushed the mute button.

“See?” he said to his wife Susan.

“You’re just fear-mongering,” she said.

Larkin rolled his eyes.

“And don’t roll your eyes at me,” Susan added. “You’re talking about a lot of money, Patrick. A hell of a lot of money.”

He grimaced and said, “Yeah, I know. We’ve got it, but it would sure take a big chunk out of our bank accounts.”

“It would wipe out a couple of them.”

Larkin nodded. The remote was in his right hand. He slid his left arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulled her closer against him.

“You’re not getting ideas, are you?” she asked.

“Not the kind you’re thinking about,” he said with a sigh.

He was in his late forties, but the only signs of his age were a few streaks of gray in his thick dark hair and a slight weathering of his features. Also, he wasn’t in quite as good a shape as he had been when he retired from the Marine Corps a few years earlier, but he liked to think he hadn’t lost too much of that conditioning.

Susan, with her honey-blond hair and classic good looks, didn’t show her age, either. Even after all the years of marriage, it didn’t take much encouragement for him to think about turning off the TV and taking her to bed. Unfortunately, watching the news was as much of an antidote for that as a bucket full of ice water dumped over his head would have been.

Too late now, he thought as she said, “It’s back on.”

“West Nile, Zika, and now Hydra. No, we’re not talking about comic book villains. The Centers for Disease Control has confirmed three more cases of the Hydra virus, so named because of the way it reproduces. This brings the number of confirmed cases in the United States to seventeen. The latest victims of the disease have been identified as refugees from the Middle East who were resettled in Houston, Texas.”

“Good Lord,” Larkin said. “It’s in Texas now, not just Florida and the East Coast.”

“Shh,” Susan said.

“These patients are being held in strict quarantine, and Houston’s mayor stated today that the situation is under control and there is no danger of the virus spreading. The patients are listed as being in critical condition, and the prognosis for their recovery is uncertain.”

“Uncertain, my ass,” Larkin said. “Hydra’s killed everybody else who came down with it. And how can that windbag politician say there’s no danger of it spreading? The doctors and scientists don’t know how it spreads. And now it’s in Texas. You think it’s not coming up I-45 toward us right now?”

“They’ll get it under control. They did with all the other new viruses, didn’t they?”

“Well, there hasn’t been another plague that wiped out half the country yet, but give it time.”

“I swear, Patrick, you sound almost like you wish that would happen.”

“No,” he said, “I just wish people would wake up to the fact that it could. ”

“Widespread demonstrations prompted by last week’s incident in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, erupted in violence today as police and peaceful protestors clashed. Riots broke out in Des Moines, as well as in other cities in Illinois, Ohio, California, and New York. The Cedar Rapids incident, in which two alleged armed robbers were gunned down by police, is under investigation by the Justice Department, and the officers involved in the shooting have been placed in protective custody after their homes were destroyed by firebombs. No arrests have been made in those bombings.

“We’ll have news of the latest celebrity breakup right after—Wait. What? Where… Breaking news. There has been an explosion in downtown Chattanooga, Tennessee. Reports are coming in of serious destruction and numerous injuries, although there are no confirmed fatalities at this time… We’ll try to find out more—”

“That’s enough,” Larkin said as he pushed the power button on the remote this time.

“I might have wanted to see that, you know,” Susan said.

“Why? You know what’s going to happen. All the talking heads will speculate about who’s responsible for that explosion, and they’ll mention everybody except who it turns out to be.”

“You don’t know who’s responsible.”

Larkin just gave her a look.

“Well, you don’t.”

“Maybe I’ll be proven wrong. The history of the last thirty years says I won’t be, though.” Larkin shook his head. “Let’s face it, you could write the script for the news every night before it comes on. Some dictator on the other side of the world rattles a sword, and our guy waves it off and accuses his political opponents of fear-mongering. So-called peaceful protestors start burning and looting because they can get away with it, while cops trying to do their jobs have to worry not only about being shot but about their families being threatened as well. Some athlete spits on the country that made him a millionaire. We’ve conquered all the diseases except the ones that have mutated to the point that we can’t do anything to control them. And people can’t go about their business without having to wonder if there’s some suicidal nutcase with a bomb standing next to them in a crowd. Isn’t that what we see, night after night?”

“Maybe, but what good is ranting going to do about it?”

“Ranting? This is not ranting . I haven’t even come close to working up to a good rant —”

Susan stood up. “Good night, Patrick.”

“That’s it? Good night?”

“Yeah, I think so. I’m tired. I still have a job, you know, and it was a long shift in the ER today.”

He made a face again and said, “Sorry. I guess I do get a little wound up sometimes.”

She went behind the sofa, leaned over, and kissed his ear. “You’re passionate about things,” she told him. “I can’t complain too much about that.” She straightened, started to walk toward the bedroom, and then paused to add, “I just hate to see you get so worked up over things you can’t do anything about. Really, Patrick, this is just… the new normal.”

The new normal, he thought as she left the room. He supposed she was right about that.

God help us all.

Two weeks earlier

“It’s out in the country west of here,” Adam Threadgill said. “You know, so it would be handy to the Air Force base.” He shrugged. “Back when there was still an Air Force base.”