Fire in the Ashes

“Sit down and shut up,” Ben told him. “If you'd been in your office this morning you'd have known I've called for an emergency session of Congress this evening to deal with this crisis."

“What crisis?” the senator from Colorado yelled.

“You'll know this evening,” Cecil said, trying to calm the man. He knew, as well as Ben, that as soon as the plague news touched the men and women of Congress it would hit the streets fast.

But for now, all they were trying to do was buy a little time. Time. Time to get the troops in place. Time to set up roadblocks. Time to airship the medicine all over the nation. Time to let the drug companies roll 24 hours a day, mass-producing the life-saving drugs.

But they all knew they were quickly running out of time.

More cases of the plague were cropping up. The press was screaming for information. Worse, the press was speculating, and the people were getting jumpy because of it.

The airlines were shrieking to the heavens about the money they were losing—same with the bus companies. A few wildcat truck drivers decided to ignore the presidential order and roll their rigs anyway.

After two had been killed while attempting to roll through a Marine roadblock and the rest of them tossed in jail, the truckers wisely decided it would be in their best interest not to fuck around with Ben Raines.

Man meant exactly what he said. No give to him at all.

Ben looked at Cecil. “Handle it for a few minutes, Cec. I've got to make a call."

Cecil nodded. He knew who Ben was calling.

“How's it looking, Lamar?” Ben asked over the long lines.

“We're clean, Ben,” Doctor Chase said. “I'm shooting everyone with enough chloramphenicol and streptomycin to cause ears to ring. A few cases of deafness, but I think it's temporary—reaction to the drug. Have you been popped?"

“In both arms and the butt.” He told his friend what he was doing to combat the situation.

“It'll save some, Ben. But I spoke with our man at the CDC and this stuff scares me."

“Is there a vaccine for this, Lamar?"

“Yes, for the plague. Have to use it broadside, but it's a puny weapon against this stuff. I would recommend staying with what we're using. This isn't ordinary plague, Ben. It's moving much too fast for that. I believe it's a ... well, to keep it in language you'd understand, a wild mutant; probably undergone a forced genetic alteration from the bombings—taken this long to manifest. It's incredibly fast. I think it gets into the body before our natural immune factors even know the body's been penetrated. And it's going to get much, much worse before it gets better. If it gets better."

“I was afraid of that."

“I'm leveling with you, Ben. No point in pulling any punches."

“Jim Slater and Paul Green out there?"

“Yes."

“Okay. You remember all that chlordane we had in storage?"

“Very well."

“Have them gather up as many ag-pilots as they can and start spraying our borders and lay it on thick—use it all if you have to. Spray a strip a half-mile wide, all around the Tri-States. That will take care of any flea problem that might crop up."

“As well as anything else that blunders into that area."

“Can't be helped, Lamar. You know as well as I our people will pull together and obey orders. I can't speak for the rest of America."

“I can,” the old doctor was firm. “Blind panic when the news breaks. You won't have nearly enough troops to stem the tide of frightened humanity.

“You know, Ben, this will finish you in the White House? You won't be given credit for the lives you've saved, only blamed for the deaths. You'll have to declare martial law and you'll be blamed for that. You'll have to order troops to fire on civilians, and you'll be blamed for that."

“I know, Lamar. I've already made up my mind to see this thing through and then step down. I want to come home."

“Good. I was wrong to push you into taking the job."

“I don't know. I wish I'd had more time."

The doctor grunted in reply. “Jerre and Matt radioed in. They holed up in the high country. Matt got some pills and they're both dosed as well as can be. I think they'll make it."

“I have a hunch I'll be seeing you soon, Lamar."

“Good. I'll look forward to it. Take care."

In the office, the news was no better.

“It broke, Ben,” Cecil said. “Some alert reporters put it all together and hit the air with it."

“Goddamn it!” Ben slammed a hand on a desk top.

“And this, too,” Cecil said. “Two reporters, print and broadcast, entered an apartment this morning, here in Richmond. It was booby-trapped with a modified claymore. Blew their heads off."

“What's that got to do with me?"

“It was my apartment,” Rosita said.

Ben had not noticed the small woman sitting quietly in a chair.

“You want to explain? I thought you lived with Dawn?"