Darrell Bain - The Melanin Apocalypse

Tomlin nodded, wondering if he was hearing the president right. Probably, he thought, which suited him fine—except that he didn’t think it could be kept quiet.

When no one protested, the president continued. “We have to start preparations now. Get a spin ready that downplays how bad it could get. In the meantime, get the rest of it all worked out. How to control the riots; hospital space and medical supplies; controls on the economy; National Guard units to call up; defense preparations; all the other things we must do to ensure the survival of our country. That takes priority, understand? Our country comes first.”

“While blacks have no hope of surviving,” Brenham said, unable to help himself, nor able to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

“I’m sorry, Joshua. I’m as sorry as can be. But how were we to know?”

The president was right in one respect, Mary Hedgrade thought. In the beginning, no one had any idea of the enormity of the consequences soon to arise from those first reports coming in from Nigeria. At first she hadn’t believed it was possible herself, then that it might be, but that no one could possibly be so evil as to introduce that kind of virus into the world. And finally, when the evidence became overwhelming, she had put her face in her hands and wept. Once Mary realized what had happened, she had kept a very tight rein on all information the CDC discovered about the Harcourt virus, but she soon realized that concealment was not only pointless, but counterproductive. Only a White House directive had kept her from disseminating the CDC findings to the world. Not that it would do any good now, she thought. As Brenham had noted, the initial phase was past. For most of the susceptible population, nothing could be done for them unless a miracle occurred. It would simply have to run its course. She shivered and her mind returned to the conference room.

“How about nukes? Is there a possibility some country will try bombing us even if they can’t prove we started it?” General Newman spoke again. Rows of ribbons adorning his uniform attested to his experience, though if one knew how to read the decorations it would be apparent that there were none denoting combat. He was a political general, one of the breed who made rank by cozying up to and catering to politicians.

Brenham gave him a sour glance. “Who can predict what’s going to happen when people start dying? All you can do is keep our forces alert.”

“Luckily, the virus won’t be so lethal in the countries that have nukes,” Conrad Seigler observed.

“Yeah, luckily,” Brenham responded, unable to keep his voice from trembling. He wanted this to end so he could leave. The only thing keeping him now was his loyalty, not to the president, but to the institution of the Presidency.

“China might be a problem,” Mary said. Her head was down, glancing at the notes on her PDA. “Their population is borderline. I think more than eighty per cent of them will survive, but there are going to be a hell of a lot of sick puppies there for a while. And sick men aren’t always rational.”

“You don’t have to be sick to be irrational!” Brenham shouted, then hung his head, ashamed at the outburst. But damn, it was hard to keep it inside. Here these people were talking about a quarter of the world dying, yet they were safe and he was dead and his family was dead. It was so goddamned unfair!

“I hear you got a promotion,” June remarked. They had finished their first glass of wine and were waiting on the food.

“Uh, huh,” Doug confirmed. “I get to be responsible for everyone else’s mistakes now.”

June laughed. “The price of being good. I guess I’ll be staying here, too. Amelia recommended me for a spot on her staff as her assistant. Administrative work is a little out of my line, but it will be interesting.”

“Congratulations. I’m glad for you, June.”

“Well, I got my fill of being lazy back home. And I imagine this place will be hopping for years to come.”

“I’m sure it will,” Doug agreed. He didn’t offer any of the scary visions of what he thought would be happening in the country before long, not to mention the rest of the world. He knew from hard-won experience how violently people could react when they felt threatened.

The food arrived and for a time they simply ate and compared notes.

“No children,” June said. “We were about ready but then… well, anyway, I have no one dependent on me. Dad still works for an oil company in Montana but he’s getting ready to retire… Doug, do you think they’ll be safe? Or how about if they move back to Texas like they say they’re going to? Dad’s something of a pacifist so far as guns are concerned. He thinks they should be outlawed.”

“I wish I could tell you they weren’t in danger, but—June, everyone is going to have to pull their heads in before long. When our black population starts dying in numbers, I think it will get bad. And here’s another statistic I haven’t heard much talk about. The military is about 25% black. I don’t know about the Hispanic percentage, but it’s fairly high, too. The army will be real short handed before long.”

“What will that mean?”

Doug had already said more than he intended to. “Oh, hell, I don’t know, really. It’s a situation made for trouble, though. I just hope the government is taking steps to compensate for the loss of so many of their people, military and civil service. Back to your original question, though. I think your parents are probably safer in Montana than where we are, simply because they live in an area with a small population of blacks.”

“That’s what I think, too. I know it sounds like I’m… well, you know.”

“Yes, I know. When threats arise, people want to protect their own. It’s just human nature. And I’ll tell you something else, June. If I were black, I’d be more than just pissed off; I’d be thinking of revenge, especially if someone close to me died from the bug. In my opinion, the riots we’ve seen in the past are going to seem tame compared to what I expect we’ll see before long.” He reflected on their conversation.

“For two people who didn’t intend to talk business, we can’t seem to stay off it, can we?” He had revealed much more of his anxieties about the future than he intended

“I guess it’s on everyone’s mind right now.” She pushed her plate away and sipped at her wine.

“Dessert?”

“I shouldn’t, but…” The sounds of approaching sirens interrupted her.

Both she and Doug listened alertly. There were more than just one. The noise approached, then faded, only to have the sound of another warbling siren grow in volume, then another.

“Somehow, I’d feel better if I got on back,” Doug said. “I don’t know if that’s where they’re going, but it sounds like they’re heading in the direction of the CDC.”

“I think I’ll follow you. It may be nothing, but then again…”

“Yeah. Stay close.”

Doug caught the waiter’s eye. He paid and they left quickly.

When Doug saw a solid phalanx of flashing tail lights ahead of them on the loop, he signaled for a turn and watched closely in the rear view mirror to be sure June was following. She turned off with him, two exits before the off ramp he normally would have taken to get back to the CDC. He knew another way.

It might take a bit longer, but it was safer, he thought. Then right after they exited, he realized they might have been better off staying on the freeway. Traffic appeared to be heavy in this direction, too.

As he continued to check and make sure June was close behind, he turned right, then right again, trying to go back and swing even farther around the area where his radio was saying a demonstration had gotten out of hand. He was beginning to suspect it was more than just “out of hand” and was cursing himself for leading June into it.