Pestilence

40

Lt. General Clyde Olsen sat in a hard plastic chair inside the medical trailer and watched as several of his men communicated with bases across the state. More cases of the poxvirus were being reported, and he didn’t know how that had occurred. Everyone with symptoms had been hospitalized. The only explanation was that some people hadn’t gone to the hospital, but they would all be dead long ago. They wouldn’t have had a chance to infect many others. But the numbers he was getting were off the charts. Some people, somehow, had escaped.

Ten reported cases in Sacramento, twelve in San Francisco, thirteen in Los Angeles, six in Oakland-the list went on and on. He was losing control of this thing. At least the state was locked down. None of these people would be going anywhere.

The phone rang. A private line was connected to his desk in the trailer. He picked it up and said hello.

“Clyde, it’s Lancaster. What the hell’s going on out there?”

“We’ve hit a bit of a snag, sir. Just a minor setback.”

“The reports I’m getting are saying there’s over seventy new reported cases up and down the state.”

“That sounds about right.”

“So what the fuck happened?”

“Frankly sir, what we all suspected would. The pathogen got out somehow. Unless some people either couldn’t or wouldn’t admit themselves to the hospital and continued the spread, this thing escaped under our watch.”

“Damn fucking hippie nature loving cocksuckers…”

Clyde didn’t respond and waited until General Lancaster finished swearing. He cursed for a good ten seconds before calming down and leaving silence between them.

“Get it locked down. Now.”

“Yes, sir. And one more thing, sir.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s some concern that if the infected are still among the gen pop, they could cause an outbreak within the containment facilities.”

“Yeah, and?”

He was silent for a moment, shocked by Lancaster’s statement. “And there are thousands of people there, sir. Including our own men. They’d be like cows in a slaughterhouse.”

“Exactly, confined to a slaughterhouse.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Clyde, you think I like this decision? You think this is a fucking good time for me? It tears my guts out to make these calls, but someone has to make them. Our top priority is to contain that virus. We cannot allow it into any other state. Do you understand that, Clyde? Nothing else matters.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. Now, for these new cases, the hospitals will probably be overwhelmed soon. Create another facility for use only for the infected. No one else can be admitted there. Have anyone watching them in full biohazard gear. No accidents.”

“Yes, sir. It’ll get done.”

“I know it will.”