John Ringo - Under a Graveyard Sky

“Didn’t show for work,” Faith said, handing over the next set of packages. A lot of it was actually “mail.” FedEx was having trouble with deliveries. “No answer on his cell. H7? Left town? Who knows…” She was used to answering that question, too.

“Oh, my God…” the executive assistant said, looking at her computer.

“What?” Faith asked, craning over.

“Airplane crash,” the EA said, gesturing at her screen. “Go ahead.” She turned the sound up slightly.

“…these images were taken by a cellphone shortly after the crash…” the voiceover was saying. The plane had landed in a suburb and the caption read “Bellefonte, PA.” All that could really be seen was billowing smoke and flame. It didn’t even look like a plane. “FAA reports that based upon the truncated call from the cockpit, one of the pilots may have succumbed to the secondary H7 virus… There are no reported survivors on the flight…”

“No wonder FedEx isn’t delivering,” Faith said.

“They need to get vaccine distributed,” the assistant said, shaking her head. “This shouldn’t be happening. Where’s the vaccine?”

“Depends on the type,” Faith said, shrugging. “The Pasteur method requires infected material. And it can only come from higher order primates. Since there are only so many rhesus monkeys in the U.S., there’s not much of a source from that. To do the other type requires growing the proteins. Two months, minimum, to do that. And then…”

“That’s not true,” the EA snapped.

“Which part?” Faith said, confused. “I mean, I’ve talked to…”

“It doesn’t take that long to produce vaccine! They’re just stalling because the vaccine companies want to run up the price!”

“They are?” Faith said, still confused. “According to Dr. Curry, you have to build the protein crystal…”

“Young lady,” the EA said, calming down. “I know you think you know what you’re talking about. But this is the fault of the Bush Administration allowing the drug companies to get run-away profits off of pharmaceuticals. They know that if they wait they can ask anything for their vaccine. And it will probably be dangerous to use even then. Vaccines are the cause of autism and allergies in children, another thing that the Bush administration allowed to run rampant. I think this virus was created by the drug companies just to make money. They’re making money hand over fist just with the tranquilizers for those poor infected people.”

“According to the FBI and the CDC, it appears to have been one person,” Faith said, mulishly. “They’ve tracked the spread.”

“Young people,” the lady said, shaking her head. “You believe anything your told, don’t you? Just because it’s on the TV, doesn’t make it true.”

“Okay?” Faith said. “I guess you could be right.”

“Trust me, I’m right,” the lady said. “I don’t know who’s been filling your head with all that other nonsense, but this is definitely the fault of the drug companies.”

“Okay,” Faith said, frowning. “Well, I better get back to work. Mail to deliver.”

“Yes, you should,” the EA said, turning her attention away.

Faith continued on her rounds, dutifully dropping packages at offices. She got the usual round of questions. Where’s the regular guy? Didn’t report for work. No answer on his cell or home. Where did your sister run into the zombie? She didn’t. It was a misunderstanding.

There were more rumors. Everybody had a rumor. The H7 was God’s judgement on the world. It wasn’t really the H7 virus causing people to go zombie. It was all a plot by, choose one or more, the DOD, the Republicans, the pharamaceutical companies, the Democrats, Greenpeace, the news media to boost ratings. Until she started delivering the mail, she’d never heard of the Trilateral Commission or Skull and Bones. She’d had to have them explained. And woe betide if she questioned the explainer’s arguments. She was wrong. Anything that she’d heard from Sophia or Tom wasn’t true. It was all a plot by somebody.

“Hey, Gizelle,” she said, dropping off packages for Tom’s office. “Is my uncle around?”

“He is,” Gizelle said. “He just got back from a meeting out-of-office.”

“Does he have a minute for his second favorite niece?”

She typed a message into her computer and then nodded.

“Go ahead.”

“Hey, Uncle Tom,” Faith said.

“Not to be unfriendly, but can you make it quick?” Tom asked. He was reading his computer in jeans and a t-shirt. Not normal executive wear. “I’m sort of swamped.”

“So, who really started the zombie virus?” Faith asked.

“Still unknown actor,” Tom replied.

“So… Not the Trilateral Commission?” she asked.

Tom looked up and grinned at her.

“Never, ever, trust a furfy,” Tom said, still grinning. “Is it possible it was an organized terrorist plot? Yes. What’s the rest? Big bankers?”

“That one never came up,” Faith said, blinking. “Drug companies. The Bush Administration. Something called ‘skull and bones.’”

“If you were working anywhere else it probably would have,” Tom said, leaning back in his chair. “Banks and bankers generally get blamed first and often. The blogs are full of conspiracy theories about the H7. And every group which has previously been cast as the villains in some other context are being blamed by some other group. That’s the way that people handle this sort of thing. During the Middle Ages the Black Death was due to the Devil and they killed cats to get rid of it. Since it was carried by rats, that was the worst thing they could do. But, no, it wasn’t any of the above.”

“I tried to tell people that…” Faith said, desperately.

“Don’t bother,” Tom said, shaking his head. “They won’t believe you. They only believe trusted sources like some guy who says he’s a researcher for the CDC on some forum they read every day who doesn’t know an enzyme from a lyse and is a janitor at a minor research lab in Peoria, Kansas. But they’ll trust them over all the experts because they speak truth to power! So just listen and mostly ignore it.”

“Does it really take two months to just produce a vaccine?” Faith said. “Nobody believes that.”

“I suppose I should get Curry to do a simple explanation and distribute it,” Tom said, making a note. “But, yes, from what I understand. The protein crystals take that long to grow on the matrix. Then you have to start making the vaccine from those. And then there’s a minimum four month approval window. And even with that, the vaccine isn’t going to be the best. They rarely get it exactly right the first time. It’s going to have more harmful side-effects than one that’s been through the full approval process. But if they can get that done before, well, everything comes apart, they’ll distribute it anyway. Because, you know, the world’s coming to an end.” He gestured at his computer.

“Don’t bother arguing, if there’s something that really seems relevant bring it to me,” Tom said. “Anything else?”

“Pretty much everybody knows the Bank has some vaccine,” Faith said nervously. “Some people say it’s from monkeys. Others that it’s from people.”

“The nice thing about all the outrageous rumors going around is that that’s just one more,” Tom said, smiling tightly. “Which is good. Anything else?”

“No,” Faith said, unhappily.

“If I can get in before oh dark thirty tonight, we’ll talk,” Tom said. “But no zombie hunting!”

“Been there, done that,” Faith said, holding up her thumb. “I’m sworn off until I can use a shotgun. Tasers suck.”

“Thanks for this little meeting,” Tom said, pointing at the door with both hands. “Now I have a boatload of work to do. And you should have a cartload.”