Darrell Bain - The Melanin Apocalypse

June chuckled to herself as she followed Doug back down the narrow aisle between the trucks and jeep and their stacked and tied hand luggage. She had the same problem, too. One of her young male nurses had thought their only stop, Hawaii, was in the Atlantic Ocean. It was a brief one, just enough time for a maintenance check and refueling, then they were back in the air. She had checked her map distances and wondered why they were taking this route, but supposed the military had a reason. They always had a reason, even if it didn’t make sense. Like that helicopter flight… no! Stop it, she told herself. Like the man said, dead is dead. Keep him in a special place in your memory and move on.

The temperature and humidity were stultifying. The atmosphere hit Doug like a wall of heated fog as soon as he stepped off the big cargo plane. Whew! He thought, wearing biosuits in this place will sap our strength quicker than a sauna. “Stay close, guys,” he told his squad as he looked around for their transportation.

Amelia was already talking with the head of the welcoming committee—an-all military one, from the looks of things. As he watched she turned in his direction. “Doug!” she called. “Over here!” He hurried toward her.

“This is Major Mustafa. He’ll be our liaison with the government.”

Doug shook hands with the man. His skin was a rich black color. “Major,” he said.

“And this is Captain Presley. He’s in charge of the military detachment at the hospital. You’ll be reporting to him.”

“Captain, glad to meet you.” His new commander nodded amiably. Surprisingly, he was Caucasian.

Strands of bright red hair peeking from beneath the bill of his cap contrasted with the gray at his temples.

The major pointed. “Your transportation is arriving now. Quarters have been arranged near the hospital, or you may erect tents on the grounds. You will be given every assistance. The situation is rapidly becoming serious. I shall see you again once you’ve been quartered.” He waved a hand as if including everyone in the statement and ran back to his jeep. The driver raced off as soon as he was seated.

In a pinch, they could all have crowded into their jeep or the trucks with their supplies, but using the two buses that the major had pointed to would be far more comfortable. It ferried most of them and their hand baggage to an old two story building only a couple of hundred yards or so from the big hospital, which Doug had learned was the only hospital in Port Harcourt. To be a manufacturing and transportation hub, the city had a surprisingly small population. He rode with Captain Presley in his jeep while Amelia and June rode in their own, driven by Amelia. Bob Handley had been assigned half of Doug’s men to help with unloading and to stay with the trucks at the hospital. Bob would see that the arms and supplies didn’t wander off, he knew. For the time being he and the other men carried only their light weapons.

One thing Doug noticed on their way was that traffic was light; there were few pedestrians and every intersection sported several soldiers and at least one military vehicle, either a jeep, SUV or armored personnel carrier. Had the situation deteriorated that quickly? He hoped not, but then why was the hospital being guarded—or was it just to keep order from too many patients wanting to get inside?

It was the latter, he learned quickly. “See,” Captain Presley said as they neared the area and pedestrians increased in number. “More’re becoming ill every day. Th’re’s only so much room. We’re clearing out the building next t’ your digs for auxiliary wards but t’ey aren’t ready yet.” His accent was a strange mixture of Nigerian, Australian and Scot.

There were also guards around their quarters. Doug wondered whether he should ask for more help from back home. No, it wouldn’t do any good. Once they were airborne after the stop in Hawaii, Amelia had quietly gathered him, June and Bob and told them that she had received an encrypted call from home.

The disease was cropping up in other countries. They would be needing security, too. This fact had already made Doug decide to keep all his men at the hospital during the day and stay with the health workers when they came back to their quarters to sleep. No tents would be erected; he didn’t want to take the time or trouble.

Over the next week, Doug established a routine. When in a foreign country by invitation, the local authorities, both military and civilian had to be deferred to. His squad was there mainly to repel or ideally to prevent spontaneous attacks on the hospital infection disease specialists while they carried out their duties, much like marine guards at embassies around the world. There was little that could be done to resist masses of people if they were determined to overrun a place. And he personally was responsible for deciding at what point security and safety for the “Civilians” as they were called privately, could no longer be maintained. That frequently threw him into the company of Captain Presley, who attended the morning department head briefings held by Amelia for Bob Handley, June and himself. Privately, he conferred with Captain Presley more often.

Doug had his men on two shifts a day, noon until midnight and from then until noon the next day. It was wearing, but already he didn’t like the signs he was seeing: the way black patients looked at him and the others as they were admitted, and particularly the increasingly surly—and fearful—attitude he noticed among the black soldiers guarding the approaches to the hospital and those assigned to the grounds and entrances. He mentioned it to Captain Presley.

Presley’s ancestors were from Scotland. He was red headed, short and swarthy, with a tanned, freckled face. He wiped sweat from his brow as he made the rounds with Doug. “Can’t say as I blame t’ chaps, having t’ wear those suits in t’ heat. They can’t take it more than an hour’r so at a stretch.”

Amelia had allowed all their crew except the blacks and three others with dark skins to dispense with the biohazard suits as it became increasingly evident that Caucasians were immune to the disease—which was becoming known popularly as “The needles” after the pain symptoms. Officially, it was classified as Enterovirus harcourtii, named after the city where it was first discovered. The professionals referred to it as simply “The Harcourt Virus”.

“Five of my own men are still in the suits, Captain, although I keep rotating them. And I don’t think it’s just the suits making the soldiers nervous and surly. Rumors are rife that it was started deliberately by white supremacists.”

Presley shrugged. “Could be, old man. I dare say th’re’s them as ‘ud do it ‘f given a chance. Though given my druthers, I’d of rather seen ‘em go after t’ ragheads if they were of a mind t’ kill off some ‘un.

Blasted retards, suiciders and all that. Don’t give a bloody damn who t’y kill so long’s it’s Americans or Europeans.”

“Funny place for it to start, though, Nigeria,” Doug commented after pausing with Presley to speak to Buddy Hawkins and the three Nigerian soldiers guarding the main entrance, and to see whether or not they were having any problems. None so far, though if looks could kill, one of the black soldiers would have laid him out.

“Have to agree there. South Africa would’ve been a more likely bet. Or maybe your country. Lots of hard feelings both places, don’t y’know? Even back home, lots of bad feelings. Bloody damned politicians, t’cause of t’all. How’re your boffins doing? Any luck so far?”

Doug had to think a moment before remembering what the term meant. In England, scientists were sometimes referred to as boffins. “You heard Amelia this morning same as I did. We can’t establish a vector. Hell, not even any clues yet.”