Darrell Bain - The Melanin Apocalypse

Doug nodded. America was becoming so ethnically and racially divisive that the least suspicion of action deleterious to a particular group was likely to cause anything from riots to political and physical retaliation against the other party. The former colonel turned and left as abruptly as he had come. There was never any waste motion with him. Doug knew his boss was just carrying out orders, but personally he thought it was a futile effort. The information net was ubiquitous and hardly anything stayed under cover for long.

Manfred Morrison felt a chill steal over him as he read the update from the CDC just handed to him by his administrative assistant. He hadn’t paid that much attention to the first notification about the new disease in Nigeria; new bugs seemed to pop up almost monthly these days, a result he thought came from continuing excursions into previously neglected habitats. The world was just growing too fast. But this…

This could be horrible, and not just because of the disease, but the repercussions from it. Natural or man made, the appearance of a new virus that infected only dark skinned humans would be explosive. Hardly anyone would believe it wasn’t deliberately set loose.

The update held the attention of Manfred like nothing else had since his appointment to the post of Presidential Science Advisor. His eyes were fixed on it so avidly one might have thought he held a winning lottery ticket in his hand. The CDC scientists now believed the virus was related to the one causing polio, but thought it had been altered by methods that could only happen through deliberate manipulation in a laboratory. They still didn’t know why it was so lethal nor how it spread, and hadn’t even begun to study the possibility of a vaccine. The update also confirmed his fears. The first cases were now being reported in other countries besides Nigeria, among them South Africa, Ethiopia, India and…

England? Then he remembered, England had a fair percentage of blacks in its population now. Manfred took a deep breath and continued reading. Houston, Texas was reporting several possible cases. And New York and Seattle hospitals thought they had some. Mexico City. He scanned on down.

Still no cure, not so soon, and still no one recovering. The president would be coming to him soon for recommendations. There hadn’t been an inordinate number of deaths yet, but the way the thing was spreading and the way it affected only very dark skinned persons… that was the biggest threat. Manny reached for his phone, intending to punch the number for a direct connection to CDC headquarters in Atlanta and see if any more information was available before requesting an appointment with the president. Instead he paused and stared at the skin of his own dark brown arm. His hand was trembling when he finally managed to look away and make the call.

“Hello, Mr. Craddock,” June said to Doug. He had gone to the forward part of the passenger compartment of the big military cargo plane to get another cup of coffee. He was surprised that her voice didn’t sound nearly as frosty when addressing him as it had at their last meeting, even though he had hoped to have a few words with the new nurse. If nothing else, he wanted to find out if his original analysis of her attitude had been correct.

“Hello, Ms. Spencer. Do we have to be so formal, though?”

“I… no, I guess not.” No sense blaming him for Charlie’s death, she thought.

“Good. I’m Doug, in case you don’t remember. And it’s June, right?”

“Yes. Douglas?”

He laughed, showing an even row of white teeth that appeared to have been capped but hadn’t. “No, just plain Doug. My parents liked the short version, I guess. I’m wondering why we haven’t met before now.

Are you new?”

“I took an extended leave after my husband was killed in a helicopter crash.”

Doug’s smile disappeared. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“No reason you should have. I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“Nevertheless, losing a spouse is rough on anyone. I know.”

June halted in the act of turning to leave. “You lost your wife?”

“It’s been a while. The Mall Terrorists.”

“Oh God! How terrible.”

“It doesn’t much matter how she died, June. Dead is dead. I loved her, but after a while you have to go on.”

“Well… maybe. Anyway, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Same here. What brought you to the CDC?”

“My husband worked for them in administration. It just seemed natural to take a job with them myself when they had an opening. My folks tried to get me to go back to Houston and start over there after Charlie died. I did for a while, but once I decided to go back to work, I found I could come back here in more or less the same position I’d held before, so I did.” June suddenly realized she was chatting with a former military man as if she felt no bitterness against the army.

“I guess we both must be idealists.”

June had again turned to go but that remark stopped her as quickly as the former one had. “Why do you say that?”

Doug sipped at his coffee. “Anyone who volunteers for this kind of assignment has to be either an idealist or a closet martyr. You don’t strike me as a martyr.”

June hadn’t ever considered herself an idealist. “More like being born with itchy feet. I like doing different things and going to different places.” She was startled when Doug burst out laughing.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s just that you used the exact term to describe my whole family. It’s sort of a joke with us. We’ve always had problems settling down. I guess that’s one reason I went into the military.”

“You don’t look old enough to be retired. Why did you get out?”

“Thanks, but I am retired. Five years ago, but I went in when I was seventeen. Like most teenagers, I didn’t have good sense. I thought fighting a war would be fun and glorious. Couldn’t wait for one to happen. Then when it did and I saw a few bodies, I realized how dumb I’d been.” Doug didn’t mention that his retirement was because of a leg wound that left him unable to march long distances and forced him out of the infantry.

“So why did you stay in?” June found that she was interested despite her vow to have nothing to do with anyone associated with the military from now on.

Doug poured more coffee. “I guess I’m an idealist in the purest sense. Being human, I suppose we’ll always have wars and fighting. As long as it has to happen, why leave it to the ones who enjoy such things? I think the military ought to be made up of soldiers who hate to fight—but who, if it comes to it, do it well.” His gaze wandered away from the present to events existing only in his memory. “It turned out that I was good at my job.” He blinked and realized he was talking too much. “Sorry. Sometimes I keep talking after my mind says to stop.”

June wondered if she should tell him that her husband had been in the National Guard—and died when called to active duty. No, he probably wouldn’t be interested in how she felt about that. In fact, he would probably resent her attitude. Suddenly she felt nervous in his presence. “I’d better be getting back to my gang, We’re still looking over the packets we were given. This was all done in such a hurry, there was no time before we left.”

“Same here, and I’d better be getting back, too. Some of my guys aren’t very well versed in geography. I keep telling them Port Harcourt is in Nigeria, not New England but I’m not sure they believe me. Nice talking to you.” He walked back toward his seat, glad that he had apparently been wrong about her unfriendliness. She was easy to talk to.