Darrell Bain - The Melanin Apocalypse

Lurline thought of all the scenes of mass burial she had seen across the country, the world; the whole devastated continent of Africa with smoldering cities and deserted villages, dead lying unburied. And now

… now, to find that officials of her own government had been involved, had started the vile disease, and that the president didn’t intend to prosecute them, simply because he wanted to hang on to power. It was the end. It would have been the end even if he hadn’t intended to announce a cure before it was certain there was one. She couldn’t work for the man any longer, not under these conditions.

“I’m sorry, Mr. President, I won’t be a party to simply sweeping this under the rug, no matter what the consequences.”

“What! Lurline, there’s nothing else to do!”

“Then you’ll have to do it on your own, Mr. President. I’m resigning, effective immediately. I hope you see fit to change your mind and do what’s right.” She rose and walked out of the office, wondering why she had stayed so long to begin with.

“I’m glad to meet you sir,” Captain Foley said after saluting properly.

Christian eyed the baby faced captain, the newest member of his headquarters staff. Foley had arrived while he was absent. He would have much preferred keeping Captain Russell rather than this newcomer, but he was still back in Charleston at Shane Stevenson’s erstwhile residence examining the captured documents. “Welcome aboard, Captain. Have you been orientated and issued all the equipment you’ll need here?”

“Yes, sir. The staff took care of me very well.” He shifted his pistol belt up a notch, wishing for a shoulder holster as he normally wore—but normally his assignments called for civilian clothes. Right now he was wondering how he could possibly carry out the latest orders he had received; to take out the colonel at the earliest opportunity.

“Fine. I’ll have the XO assign you some duties tomorrow. Right now, just get familiar with the status and disposition of our forces and see Sergeant Major Brannigan first thing in the morning, or before then if he has time for you. He’ll brief you on the civilian situation and how the civic affairs teams are organized.”

“Yes, sir,” Foley answered, unintentionally showing his displeasure that he, an officer, might have to adjust his schedule to that of a sergeant.

“Good. Now I need to get some rest. We have a big day coming up tomorrow. Rutledge, I’ll want the various commanders here at 0600 hours tomorrow for a briefing. God night.” He strode off, hoping he could stay awake long enough to shower and brush his teeth before collapsing.

Qualluf and Fridge had to browbeat some of their more militant compatriots to make them see reason, but after learning they would get Johannsen to do with as they pleased and that Qualluf would be part of a government council assigned to solve problems—and that the vice president was on their side, they finally agreed. Then both of them went off to get some food, sleep and a bath.

Doug had called ahead. He was both dragging and hurting as his chair was wheeled back into the Science building, where June was waiting for him in a temporary office. He knew Amelia was still in a hospital bed, but she had arranged for a networked computer to be brought to her room. She was conferring with medical centers all over the world, pleading for updates on the progression of the Harcourt virus and information from the Arab world where the other virus was still raging unchecked.

June was running the routine administrative affairs while Amelia concentrated her efforts on the broader picture. She was in the computer alcove, her back turned to the room, as she worked with suppliers to arrange for replacement of all the goods that had surely been destroyed or stolen at their former offices and those of all the other clerks and supervisors who kept the huge facility running efficiently. New computers to download their backups into and food to restock the cafeterias were her primary concerns.

She heard the door opening but kept her eyes on the computer monitor. Her administrative assistant, a young, efficient man of Vietnamese ancestry called out to her.

“June, you’ve got a visitor.”

She rolled her chair away from her work station and swiveled around to see who it was.

“Doug!” She got up and ran to him, tears gathering and blurring her vision at his appearance. He looked as if he was about at the limit of endurance. He had bags under his eyes and unwashed hair plastered to his head, making it look almost black rather than brown. The lines on his face seemed to have grown more prominent almost overnight. She didn’t know they were mainly a result of his avoiding any more pain medicine in order to stay awake. “Doug, you look terrible!” She put an arm around his shoulders, ignoring his body odor.

Doug kept his mouth closed as she kissed him, feeling the tacky taste of teeth gone unbrushed too long.

“I’m fine, I just need some sleep. I have to talk to you and Amelia a moment first, though, if Amelia is free.”

“She’s working from her bed, but I can get her on a conference line from here.”

June sat back down and played with the computer keyboard. The big wall screen across the room brightened and came into focus.

I’m not he only one who looks terrible, Doug thought. Amelia was sitting upright in a hospital bed with a sheet covering her to the waist. Her thin nightgown showed darker and lighter areas of her body beneath it, the result of bruises from the beating she had taken. Her face was still swollen and discolored. An IV

line was hooked securely into her forearm, with the line moving this way and that as her hands played with her computer controls. The swelling around her eyes had gone down somewhat and she no longer had to peer through slits between her eyelids in order to see.

“Doug, you don’t look very good. You need some rest.”

“Look who’s talking—and I intend to get some rest very shortly. I just wanted to update you and June, then borrow June for a little while, if I may. I have to have some help getting cleaned up.”

“I should think so. Go ahead, just give me a quick summary of anything the vice president didn’t cover in her speech.”

Doug went through the essentials quickly, just in case Amelia had missed any of it. Then he told her of the impending vice presidential visit and the proposed council.

“Oh, goodness! My chance for fame and look at my face!”

Doug was glad to see she still retained a sense of humor. “Don’t worry about your face. Amelia, having you with us will reinforce the need of someone besides the military to ride herd on the civilian population if she convinces the president to start lifting martial law. You’ll be perfect. Everyone I know trusts you.

Even Qualluf Taylor has decided you’re sincere.”

“Thanks to you. All right, you go ahead and rest; I’ve had some already. June, you needn’t come back until in the morning. Just let your Ky know where you’re at and I’ll drop what I’m doing and take up where you left off. I’m about ready to turn this mess here over to the statistics group anyway. Oh—I’ll also borrow Ky from you to help arrange the TV interview here. They’ll have to if they want me involved.

And I suppose the Secret Service will be around, too, checking on security.”

“Ky always knows what I’m doing. He’ll catch you up quick, then do whatever else you need. The man is so efficient he scares me sometimes.”

“Good. If that’s all, then shoo. Go to bed.”

June wheeled Doug out.

“Where are we sleeping?” he asked. “We can’t go back to our apartment yet; the bomb squad has to sweep it for booby traps, though Qualluf said he would try to have any that his men know of disarmed.”