Darrell Bain - The Melanin Apocalypse

Fridge escorted Doug back to the same room he had left an eternity ago, it seemed like. June and the nurse, one on each side, accompanied him, with Fridge leading the way.

“Who these bitches?” Qualluf demanded as Fridge began moving chairs aside to make room for the medical cart.

“Good God, what happened to you?” Colonel Christian asked, fearful that the fragile truce had somehow been broken.

“I’ll get into it with all of you in minute.” He turned to his nurse. “Ma’am if you would, give me an injection of pain medicine, but only half a dose. Then you’ll have to leave us alone for a little while. You can wait out in the lobby.” Doug knew he had to have something to alleviate his pain, but wasn’t going to take enough to muddle his senses.

“Your pain medicine is in the I.V. All I can do is speed the drip up a little.” She adjusted the flow, then said,” I have to stay with you to monitor your vital signs,” Doug was insistent that she go, but she left only after he told her June was a nurse. What he had on his mind was too vital to get out in casual conversation. Not before he had a chance to use it. Once the nurse closed the door on them, he got down to business.

“Have you two made any progress while I was gone?” Doug looked at Christian, then Taylor. Taylor glowered and didn’t answer. The colonel shook his head. “Only so far as allowing me to send my aide back to tell my deputy that I’m in no danger here, and to respect the truce.”

Doug spotted a carafe that was an addition to the room. “Is that coffee?” he asked, pointing with his good arm. “If it is, I need some to help keep me awake long enough to get through what I need to tell you.”

June brought the coffee to Doug without asking permission. Qualluf stared balefully at her, but said nothing. Despite himself, he was curious over how Doug had gotten his wounds and what he was up to now.

June helped him to raise the upper portion of his body enough to gulp some of the hot coffee and make good eye contact with the others, then he began. “Mr. Taylor, I may owe you an apology,” he said, then waited on the reaction. It wasn’t exactly what he would have hoped for, but given the man’s fixation on mistreatment of blacks from the age of exploration until now, he wasn’t surprised.

“Huh! Every motherfucking white in America and Europe owe us an apology. Damn little good that do now.”

“I told you before, I’m not responsible for anyone else’s actions, only my own and the men I command. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never agreed with the way blacks have been treated, but that’s neither here nor there. What I wanted to apologize for is that I found out I might have been wrong. There is a possibility you may have been right about the government being involved with instigating the Harcourt virus. Or some people in government, at least.”

“Doug, no!” June exclaimed. “Our government couldn’t have done this!”

Doug was watching Fridge’s reaction rather than Qualluf’s. He sensed that he was going to have to depend on his old friend to hold things together until he had a better grasp of exactly what had actually happened with Johannsen. And he needed the Colonel, too.

Qualluf stood up. “Just like I said. We can’t trust any of you sorry motherfuckers. That’s it, conference over.” He started toward the door.

“Fridge, stop him. There’s more!” Doug winced as he tried reflexively to reach his arm out to stop him—the wrong arm.

Fridge was nearer the door than Qualluf. He moved in front of it. “Preacher, let’s hear it all before we decide anything. Go ahead, Doug. I hope you got more than this, though.”

“I do.” Doug sipped more of the coffee. He could feel the effects of the pain killer lessening his hurt, but it was also making him groggy. “June, stop the pain medicine. I have to stay awake.”

Qualluf moved back to his chair, knowing he had reacted too quickly. What else did this man know?

How had he been hurt? How could he be used? Was there maybe a cure after all? Better to wait and see.

After Qualluf had reseated himself, Doug continued, encouraged by June’s hand slipping into his after he downed the last of the coffee. “Let me tell you what happened when I went back to talk to Amelia. She told me that some CIA agents had brought in that crazy scientist, Johannsen, who created the Harcourt virus. He arrived right before the airport was closed, so Amelia and her scientific staff haven’t finished questioning him about whether he knows how to stop the virus or not. About the time Amelia was giving me this information, she had to be taken to surgery to repair internal injuries as a result of the beating she got while here. If it hadn’t been for that I might have had more for you.”

Doug saw that Qualluf’s perpetual glare faded from his face for once, telling him plainer than words who had been responsible for Amelia’s torment. He thought the man might even have been in on it, but he didn’t want to know. It would only prejudice him in the hours to come.

“We want that man,” Qualluf said.

Doug had been hoping for that reaction. “I may give him to you, but not before we drag every bit of what he knows about the Harcourt virus out of him. He suggested there was evidence of his contacts in government in some papers he told me about. That was after I rescued him from what I think were government agents intent on silencing him. That’s how I got hurt.” He tapped the air cast on his arm to emphasize the point. “Now here’s what I want us to do.” He explained his ideas as clearly as he could.

He had been thinking furiously ever since learning of Johannsen’s presence and the possibility of government involvement.

“So here’s how I see it,” Doug finished up. “I want some scientists and other experts to examine the documents that Johannsen told me where to find before we say anything. Colonel Christian and some of his men will go get them first and bring them back here in order to keep anyone else in the government from stopping publication if they prove to be true. Same for the possibilities of a vaccine or a cure. We want to get that out, too, but I see no sense in giving people false hope before we’re sure, and frankly, I don’t think the black and Hispanic communities would believe us without proof. And last, I want the people here released, with Mr. Taylor sending scientific representatives of his choice into the CDC to monitor the work there. Mr. Taylor, you can either go into the CDC or go with Colonel Christian to secure the documents or send your representatives to each place and stay here with your people; it’s your choice.” He looked at the others, trying to gauge everyone’s reactions, then added, “Whatever we do, we don’t want either the government or the military, other than the colonel here, to get wind of what we’re up to until we can publish our findings on the net in a believable manner. So far as I know, it’s only Edgar Tomin who’s involved in this mess, but there may be others. In fact, there’s almost certain to be others and we want to get them, too.”

Fridge blew out a breath of air. “Doug, you never did do things small. This is a lot to take in all at once.”

“I know. And it may not be all, yet. I forgot to tell you, that I left word for Amelia to call me as soon as she’s out of surgery and awake. There was something else she was trying to tell me before she passed out. She’ll probably be in surgery, then recovery for a few more hours. Johannsen is in surgery, too—and as much as I hate the man, I hope he survives long enough to question him some more.” He felt his eyelids dragging. “In the meantime, I’ve got to rest for a while if you want me to carry on.”