Jeff Jacobson - Sleep Tight

“Let’s not split hairs. Not with this much death. I need to know right now what is being done to stop this virus from spreading. As of right now, I have three major airports under lockdown. Those damn bugs have been discovered in luggage on flights from Chicago. Flights from Chicago have been quarantined, and are sitting on runways. We’re running out of time. I will ask you again, what is the next step?”

“The next step has been taken, Mr. President.” Dr. Reischtal didn’t elaborate.

“And that would be . . . what, exactly?”

Dr. Reischtal responded with even less emotion that usual. “I have ordered a chemical agent to be dispersed throughout Chicago, once the soldiers have finished clearing out the rats.”

“What kind of chemical agent?”

“Something that will clean Chicago.”

“Listen, doctor, you either start giving me straight answers or I’ll have my boys on you so fast it’ll make your head spin. You want to be a smart-ass with me, you can disperse aspirin to convicts at San Quentin, you follow?”

“Very well. It is called two-four-five Trioxin.”

“It will kill the bugs?”

“It will kill everything.”

“The virus?”

“It will kill everything.”

“Why the secrecy? Why didn’t we just bomb the bugs in the first place?”

“Two-four-five Trioxin is perhaps the most lethal chemical weapon in our arsenal. It is not available to the Armed Forces.”

“Why?”

“The effects are devastating and immediate. Nothing else we possess is capable of that much power. Kill rate is one hundred percent guaranteed. The only drawback, other than it will kill anything and everything in the dispersal zone without discrimination, is that the half-life is unfortunately, somewhat lengthy. If it becomes necessary to release the agent, Chicago will be uninhabitable for the next five to seven years.”

“What? Are you joking? Who the hell gave you the clearance to use this shit?”

“With all due respect, sir, the president’s authority is not enough to sanction the use of two-four-five Trioxin. That power lies solely with the head of the special pathogens branch of the CDC.”

“You, in other words.”

“At the moment, yes, sir.”

The Man spoke to someone else on his end. “You getting this? Okay, okay. Find wherever they’re keeping it; I want this shit confiscated, yesterday.” He came back to the phone. “Okay, Dr. Reischtal. It’s all over. The evacuation will continue, but I will be starting to pull the troops out. We need them in other areas. As for you, you’re finished. I am officially removing you from this operation. Your replacement will be contacting you shortly.”

“That’s all well and good, sir, but I’m afraid you simply don’t have the authority. I am the one in charge. That is final.”

A soldier burst around the corner of the trailer and stood at attention next to Dr. Reischtal. He didn’t want to interrupt the phone conversation, but the look on his face made it clear that this was an emergency.

Dr. Reischtal was aware of the soldier, but chose to ignore him for the moment. “If you check the laws concerning pandemics, you’ll find that the CDC has a surprising amount of power, and I’m afraid this authority is absolute during times of national emergency.”

The Man wasn’t giving up without a fight. “No, doctor, you are the one that is mistaken. You have no right.”

Dr. Reischtal held the phone to his chest. The Man was still yelling. He turned to the soldier. “Yes?”

“Sir, we have just received word that your patient is missing.”

“My patient?”

“Yes, sir. Tommy Krazinsky.”

Dr. Reischtal hit END CALL.

Huddled against the light post at Adams and Clark Street Ed and Sam and Qween decided they needed a place to hole up for a while, just to catch their breath. The majority of the soldiers seemed to be still working their way through the subways, but Clark was too well lit, so they crept back up to LaSalle and didn’t have much trouble slinking through the shadows. Still, the helicopters were stabbing searchlights down on the dark streets, and Qween and the detectives knew they had to get inside somewhere.

Sam suggested the Chase Tower. Someplace above everything, away from all the shooting. Just down the street, a few blocks away. “Get up high. See if we can’t see anything.”

They made it without incident and found the front doors locked. Qween said, “I can get us in.”

“One of your shortcuts?” Ed asked.

Qween said, “Sure,” and heaved a newspaper vending machine through one of the windows. A strident alarm bleated out of the building and filled the street with its uncomfortable rhythm and pitch. After thirty seconds, Qween said, “Let’s get to it.”

The lobby was big and dark and silent. Lines of bank tellers’ windows and half cubicles fought for space among large poster advertisements for the bank. The ceiling stretched up into the unknown, into the shadows. The whole place was empty.

They decided to take the elevator, just to get as far away from the alarm as possible. Sam hit the top button, and they got off on the fifty-ninth floor.

The elevator bank unfolded into a dining room, filled with spotless tables and chairs surrounded by a stunning view of downtown Chicago. The Chase Tower took up one full city block, bordered by Clark, Dearborn, Madison, and Monroe streets. The deep impression and its endless cement stairs were sunk into the south side, along with Chagall’s Four Seasons mosaic. Except for a few buildings popping up that blocked their field of vision, like the big red CNN building, they could see most everything in all directions. They wandered around the perimeter, but still nothing much was happening on the streets.

Back near the elevators, they found a food prep area with a small TV on the counter. It was tuned to a sports channel. They switched around to find the news.

The anchor was saying, “. . . potentially graphic, so parents may want children to leave the room. This raw footage was uploaded less than an hour ago, and again, while we feel it needs to be seen, it could prove upsetting to sensitive viewers.”

They switched to blurry, shaking video, obviously from a smartphone, as someone panned too quickly around an expensively furnished high-rise condo. It must have been shot earlier that day because the sun was shining and downtown Chicago could be seen through the windows. A woman’s voice, tight and shrill, was saying, “And then we started finding them everywhere.” She got closer to the leather couch and reached out to overturn one of the cushions.

It landed on the floor and reddish black bugs spilled out of the seams. The woman squealed and the phone went berserk as she stomped on the bugs. “Everywhere!” The footage spun back around, up the two steps from the sunken living room and into a huge white kitchen. “I will sue this landlord for everything!”

A boy, maybe ten, pointed up at the massive ventilation hood over the stove island. Bugs were crawling out of it by the dozens. Some fell out onto the black cast iron grates.

The woman leapt to turn the burners on. Flames licked the bugs. She hit the exhaust fan on the hood, which slowed the bugs’ descent, but they still kept emerging. The video whipped across the floor. More bugs were crawling out of the heating and air-conditioning vents. Some squirmed out of an electrical socket. Her son had a can of Raid, and bent in front of the camera as he blasted them.

A bug trundled across his white T-shirt. His mom slapped it away. She started sobbing. She ripped the shirt off his back and held it up to the phone. Several more bugs crawled along the seam around the collar. Then she really shrieked and grabbed her son and ran for the door. There were a few more seconds of blurry footage before the network cut back to the anchor, who seemed to be at a loss for words. Maybe the teleprompter wasn’t ready.