Darrell Bain - The Melanin Apocalypse

“I know about the new one. First Blacks, now Muslims. And you telling me the government not behind it?”

Doug sighed. The man was fixated on the idea and he didn’t have any idea how to get him off it. “I won’t argue the matter with you; the Vice President of the United States told me personally that she has no knowledge of government involvement and that the president himself gave her the authority to end this standoff. And I’ve already told you that so far as I know, there is not a cure for the Harcourt virus, not yet. Even a vaccine is still months away, if one can be developed at all. So tell me now, what is it you want?”

Qualluf didn’t answer for long moments. He appeared to be running his options through his mind. Doug was about to ask again, when he broke the silence. “All us folk go free. You white boys can go free, but we keep the women to be sure you don’t renege.”

“No. Here’s what we’ll do. Every one of you can go free. No retaliation. You release the hostages. You can leave a dozen observers of your own choice to remain here at the CDC. I’ll give them authority to poke into any records they want to. Any at all. They can stay as long as they like, observe any of the research they like and I’ll allow them to report back to you once a day.” He held up a finger to indicate that he wasn’t finished yet, then added “And I’ll recommend to the vice president that enforcement of drug laws be suspended insofar as it covers painkillers; heroin, morphine and the like. I can’t guarantee that last part; all I can do is ask. Now if that’s not enough, why don’t you tell me about anything else that’s bothering you.”

“ You bothering us, just like you been for 500 years. We got your women already. And if they’s no cure, we dead anyway. Maybe we just keep them and see how long it take to fuck ‘em to death.” Qualluf grinned, displaying his diamond studded teeth.

Doug clenched his teeth in an effort not to climb over the desk and throttle the black preacher. He’s playing to our fears , Doug thought, and he’s right. No matter how you feel intellectually, there’s always the cultural stuff. It’s hard to root out. Goddamn him, if… He bit his inner lip hard enough to draw blood. “You’re not going to do that, Mr. Taylor.”

“I’m not, huh? How you planning on stopping me?”

Doug looked at his watch. “If either myself or Colonel Christian aren’t back within another two hours, I’ve left word for my people to contact the army and tell them we’re dead. That will be their signal to re-take the CDC by force.”

“We’ll set the motherfucking place on fire you try it.”

“If we don’t come back, your only contact with the army or the government is dead. You’ll wind up tied to a post just like those sorryass white supremacists were, instead of being in line for the new drugs if they work. Why in hell don’t you try helping for a change?” The lie about having to make contact within two hours came out of his mouth so quickly that he didn’t know he had formed the idea until he had said it, and then he knew it was a precaution he should have put in place before coming here. If he and Christian both died, there would be no point in further negotiations, the way he saw it.

Colonel Christian spoke for the first time, forming his words carefully. “Mr. Taylor, my original orders called for me to secure the CDC facility as my number one priority. It’s only through the good offices of the vice president that we didn’t simply move in here and kill every one of you that resisted. Now let me add something else to the discussion. Mr. Craddock?”

“Go ahead Colonel.”

“Before I left my headquarters, I gave orders to temporarily halt our advance and to fire only when fired upon. I don’t want any more civilian casualties than necessary to restore order. Agree to Mr. Craddock’s conditions and you can return with me and help settle the population down and put those rumors that started this fighting to rest. You would be doing both your country and your people a favor.”

“Ain’t my country no more. No deal. Like I told you, we dead anyway.” Qualluf folded his arms across his chest again, as if prepared to wait for better terms.

Exasperated, Doug looked over at Fridge. His friend had a distinctly uncomfortable expression on his face but appeared to be waiting on developments before making any kind of decision on his own.

Somehow, he had to get Fridge over to the side of reason. He didn’t think that even losing his family could have robbed him of all the good he remembered in the man. He was trying to think of something else to say when a knock came at the door.

“Come in!” Qualluf bellowed.

A light complexioned black man with a pistol stuck in his belt stepped into the room. “Preacher, we just grab a white boy holdin’ a white flag. He say some Amelia bitch want to talk to the man here. He say it

‘portant, like about that ‘hannsen dude invented that viral be killin us. Say he has to know. What you want me do with him?”

Doug stood up. He caught Amelia’s name and the reference to the scientist even through the thick vernacular of black patois the man spoke.

“Colonel, I think I better run back over there for a few minutes and see what this is about. Do you want to stay or go?”

“I can stay for awhile. Perhaps Mr. Taylor and Greene and I can talk further while you’re gone.”

“I ain’t say you can go yet,” Qualluf said, half rising from his chair.

“Well, I’m going. Fridge, I need to speak to you for a moment.”

“No!” Qualluf shouted.

Doug stared daggers at the man. “Mr. Taylor, Fridge lost his wife and children to the Harcourt virus. I lost my wife to the Mall Terrorists. I promise, this is personal and has nothing to do with our negotiations.”

“No.”

“I’ll talk to him, Preacher,” Fridge said mildly. “Can’t hurt nothing. And maybe we better let him go see what’s so important back there.” Without waiting on an answer, he took Doug’s arm and escorted him out of the room.

As quickly as they found a boundary of privacy in the hall, Fridge said “I didn’t know about that, Doug.

I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, Fridge. Listen, as badly as Amelia was hurt, she wouldn’t send for me if it weren’t something important. In the meantime, would you do me a personal favor?”

“If I can.”

“I just remarried. My wife’s name is June. She was on the admin staff. Would you see if she’s among the captives and if so, find out if she’s okay? And I’d appreciate it if you would keep it quiet.”

“I can do that much. June you say? Describe her for me.”

Doug did so. Fridge nodded, then said “Doug, try to get us out of this. I believe you, but that preacher got more power here than me and he’s convinced the government is behind the whole thing.” He looked down at his feet for a moment, then back up at Doug. “I was too, until I talked to you. I never knew you to lie.”

“Thanks, Fridge. I’ll do my damnedest to get it done. And trust me, if I thought the government was behind this, I’d be on your side.”

That drew a thin smile from the big man. He escorted Doug on down the hall and outside, then designated two guards to go with him back to the science building under a white flag. After that he went looking for June Craddock. He wondered if she were as nice a woman as Doug’s previous wife had been.

On the way back, Doug mentally reviewed everything he knew about the preacher. He recalled reading that Qualluf had a PhD. in psychology. Was that why he was using black vernacular, to make him think he was dealing with a dumb black man? Probably he thought. Too bad the preacher didn’t know that Doug had managed to remove most of the negative cultural attitudes toward blacks he had grown up with. Being in the military and fighting alongside men and women of all races was one quick way to make both sides see how vulnerable they were—and how in a crunch, skin color was the last thing anyone thought of.