Darrell Bain - The Melanin Apocalypse

The African continent remained largely a lawless wilderness, the violence and fighting over scarce food supplies having taken a very heavy toll on the survivors of the virus. The Middle Eastern population was severely depleted, but Israel hadn’t gotten off scot-free. It turned out that they hadn’t gotten all of Iran’s nuclear arsenal as they thought they had, and an atomic bomb had exploded over one edge of Tel Aviv, the largest city in the nation. They had retaliated with a single atomic explosion over Tehran to emphasize the unwavering policy of retaliation, an eye for an eye, but they were still picking up the pieces of Tel Aviv, and neither the Middle Eastern nations or Israel were a force in world politics any more.

Doug thought the world was very fortunate that only those two atomic bombs had been used and that so far only one nuclear power plant had suffered a meltdown. It could have been much, much worse.

China had become balkanized, with warlords holding various sections of the country. It was a very scary situation, for no one knew which ones, if any, controlled the small nuclear arsenal China had possessed.

Taiwan was cautiously trying to help, but they had their own troubles, too. Before the war with China petered out its cities had suffered a ferocious barrage of conventional weapons, and a large portion of its navy had been sunk. And of course some of their citizens had died from the Harcourt virus.

Russia was cooperating with the reconstituted United Nations, now called the Confederated Nations, and with the United States—so far. He had no idea how long that would last, but the relationship showed promise.

In the end, a billion and a half people had died before the cure and prevention of the Harcourt and Goldwater viruses were fully developed; not as many as predicted by some scientists, but certainly bad enough. The world was only slowly coming out of the economic depression, but no one begrudged the money being spent on the huge new research facility being built alongside the CDC in Atlanta. Its mission would be very simple: find a way to prevent such a man-made calamity from ever happening again. The scientists he had talked to were cautiously optimistic.

The Presidential Council for Urban and National Affairs had done some very good work after congress relented and gave it enough power to override political protests at some of their actions. Amelia, Fridge, Qualluf, Franklin and a very competent woman by the name of Selena Martinez were still running the Council and he continued to serve as the chairman, with General Christian as the military advisor.

President Santes was considering General Christian for a seat on the Joint Chiefs. It was a good choice, he thought.

Doug sighed. There was only so much he, or the army or the nation could do, even under the banner of the newly organized Confederated Nations, after the original organization disintegrated into chaos, accusations and recrimination, then fell completely apart. That had been a good thing, he now realized. It allowed a completely new start and provided an opportunity to get rid of the cronyism and bureaucracy-fattened old union that had become increasingly unable to function effectively, even before the Harcourt virus.

“What is it sweetheart?” June asked, concern carrying an almost visible presence in her voice.

“Nothing, really. Just thinking of all that’s happened and all that still has to be done.”

“Come here,” June said.

He walked over to where she sat, rocking and nursing their firstborn child, a daughter.

“Please relax, Doug. You know you can’t do it all. You’re a fine and wonderful man and I love you, but this is a time to relax. Be grateful for what we have.”

Doug smiled, looking down at his daughter, happily and innocently nursing at June’s breast, without a care in the world. He met June’s gaze and nodded. “You’re right, as usual. I’ll try harder. You deserve all of my time I can give.”

June nodded. She looked up and returned his smile, very content, and thinking that he wouldn’t be Doug if he didn’t try so hard. He was doing a wonderful job and everyone of consequence knew it.

Later that evening, as they were preparing for bed, the Steward knocked. She heard his voice plainly.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Vice President, but President Santes wants to talk to you.”

Doug gazed helplessly at June. He closed the door and came back to her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Maybe I can handle it from here. If I can’t I’ll let you know before I leave.”

“It’s okay. I know she wouldn’t call you on a Sunday unless it really was an emergency. Just try to hurry.”

“I will,” Vice President Doug Craddock assured her. And he would, too. His wife and daughter were more important to him than anything else in the world. In the end, nothing else really mattered.

This was a rather difficult book to write, and I realize it might arouse intense emotions among cultural and racial groups in the United States and other parts of the world. However, I feel like the story needed to be told, and saw no better way to do it than through a fictional account of what may become a very real possibility in the near future. Many articles have been published concerning the inherent danger of genetic manipulation of disease-causing microbes and viruses, perhaps even prions, but they are read mostly by professionals, and the dangerous possibilities rarely impinge on the general public’s consciousness.

Fiction, on the other hand, reaches out and touches readers at the gut level. They can see in fictional form how a genocidal pandemic could affect real people and real nations, real families and real children—just like their own. I hope that they take note and urge our representatives in Washington to begin research now to limit the damage should something like the virus described in this book be released into the world.

At the risk of appearing gauche, I would also like to state that some of the despicable attitudes and beliefs described in this book are most emphatically not my own and I trust that any offence I may have caused is outweighed by the need to alert the country to one of the many dangers lurking in the future.

The near future, I might add.

I might also mention here that I took some liberties with the layout and organization of the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta and its nearby environs. It was rather ironic in a way. I asked the CDC for a map or a description of their outside building (or buildings) and was refused. Perhaps they thought I was a terrorist! At any rate, as the potential for biological terrorism increases, the CDC might very well come to resemble the description in this novel.

I also took a few liberties with the White House, but not many.

I would like to extend my thanks to the following people for their help in getting this book into your hands. First and always, my wife Betty. She is a very astute judge of what’s right and what may be wrong with a particular book and she has saved me from making a number of grievous errors in the past. She also has a talent for getting to the very heart of controversial subject matter. While I won’t say she is always 100% right, it turns out that she is right very nearly all the time. Personally, I think our government could benefit from her advice in a number of areas if they would just ask.

As usual, Jamie Jones reviewed my flying sequence and saved my mechanically and aeronautically untalented self from making any number of errors. He and his family are really good friends even though we’ve never met other than over the internet.

I would also like to extend my thanks to Lida Quillen for her belief in my ability as a writer and the potential of this book to reach a large audience. Twilight Times Books is still a small publishing company and she risked a large amount of capital to bring this book to market.