Islands of Rage and Hope

EPILOGUE

“I hope like hell you can get this stuff started fast,” Faith said, stepping out of the decontamination shower on the deck of the Grace Tan. She’d carried a couple of the, fortunately waterproof, packages, and Trixie, in with her to get the blood off them. It had soaked right through their assault rucks. “We’ve got bites. Janu got bit.”

Like rabies, the H7D3 infection could be fought off with continuous injections of vaccine. If you had enough vaccine. Most of the Marines had been exposed and were probably immune. But probably wasn’t certainly.

“If I can still stand,” Sophia said wearily. “Jesus. Sis, I take back any jokes I’ve made about you and clearance. You can have it. And if I can remember the process this tired. You need some, obviously.”

“H7 doesn’t like me, remember?” Faith said. “I’m not so sure about some of the rest of my guys. They might be immune, they might not. And I’m not losing Jan. I’m not, Sophia. I’ll help.” She wrung Trixie until the water ran red on the deck.

“You may not be able to make it, Ensign,” Dr. Rizwana Shelley said, walking up and holding her hand out for a package. “I can. And test it. And make sure it’s right. I’ve already started the lab up. All I needed was the gel. And, of course, the biological material.”

“I take it you’ve decided to assist, Doctor?” Sophia said.

“Yes,” Dr. Shelley said. “Entirely.”

“What changed your mind?” Sophia asked.

“Your sister’s helmet camera,” Dr. Shelley said. “Not the fight. Or that as well, perhaps. The destruction. The devastation. It is not necessary to have an additional flight to check on my daughter. Her neighborhood is gone. Everything is gone. It has all been destroyed. Not, truly, by people, even insane people. By this horrid disease. Which must be ended. Forever. Whatever it takes.”

“Good thing we brought back some nice fresh spines,” Faith said, pulling a plastic bag out of her soaking assault ruck. “You might want to wear gloves.”

“I’ll grind them for you,” Sophia said, taking the ziplock bag. “I’ve done worse.”

“That, right there, is a beautiful sight,” Steve said as the crew of the SSGN USS Florida started landing at the pier in Guantanamo. Dr. Shelley had a full lab set up in the Grace Tan, still anchored in the Thames, and was cranking out vaccine like there was no tomorrow. Among other things, if the Marines might be a bit squeamish about stripping out the spines of infected Gurkhas had no problems with it. And there was a copious quantity of available infected in London. As well as survivors.

Subs were proceeding to the Thames to pick up their vaccine and then delivering it wherever it was needed. And at “in excess of 20 knots,” attack subs could deliver it all over the world in record time. The crew of the Florida had been subsisting on coconut and fish, and not much of either, for most of the last year on a desert island in the Indian Ocean. There was the best meal the cooks in Gitmo could make for them awaiting their arrival. And the Alexandria was alongside taking on stores, the crew as thin as death camp survivors but pitching in with a will. They had more missions to accomplish and now at least they had supplies to do it.

General Montana had declined to take command from either General Brice or Steve. He had taken a voluntary demotion to colonel, “’cause colonel’s more fun than being a general,” and was slated to move to the Pacific as CINCPAC as soon as all the subs were vaccinated. He and his command team were going to take one of the SSGNs for the voyage.

Nobody was arguing.

“Over a thousand survivors from London alone,” Stacey said, holding Steve’s hand. “Four thousand sub crewmen. And seventy Gurkhas.”

“Survivors self-extracting in the sub-arctic,” Steve said, looking out at the rising sun. “About to have a baby boom. All the boat corpsmen are about to be very busy. We’re pulling out of the dive, finally. Now we can really get started. Now we can fly…”

“Liiiisten Up, maggots! This is DEVIL DOG RADIO, an official station of the You-nited States Government, transmitting from sunny and zombie-free Guantanamo Bay. To catch all you yardbirds up on what’s been going on in the world since the Fall…”

From: Collected Radio Transmissions of The Fall

Last listed transmission of this compilation.

University of the South Press 2053