Kill Them Wherever You Find Them (23 page)

This wasn't much of a surprise. The speed at
which the disease had proven to be lethally effective was a known
factor. Once contracted the infected would be incapacitated within
just moments. The victims didn't have a chance, never seeing it for
what it was until it was already too late.

Though apparently airborne the infectious
agent had somehow been limited to this apartment building. The
first responders contracted the illness but surrounding buildings
for now appeared unaffected. It was discovered that a rolling
electrical black out blanketed the area around the time the bio
agent was released, incapacitating the air conditioners viewed from
nearly every window. There could be no doubt that the loss of
electricity saved the city from a much higher death toll.

To their credit the team sent to observe from
the outside ordered all electric power, water, and gas to the
entire block be cut off before power was restored to the
neighborhood. Another small mercy was that the apartment complex
was a stand-alone building, in no way physically connected with any
periphery structures beyond underground pipes and conduits for
utilities.

Panic was swelling into surrounding
neighborhoods with conspiracy theories swirling in the streets, fed
by some of the less-than-ethical media outlets. Twenty-four-hour
cable channels of talking heads, and armchair
doctor
bloggers, were a constant source of fuel to the fire of public
fears. Honegger found himself slightly relieved that the outbreak
occurred in a mostly "white" area. Otherwise, the added strain of
those claiming racial cleansing or other outrageous racially based
conspiracy would certainly ignite even larger riots.

Phone lines were jammed, especially those to
hospitals, police stations, even television and radio stations.
Messages were being relayed to the public to stay in their homes,
not using phones unless necessary so that lines would be open for
emergencies. They were also told that FEMA was posting advice and
notifications on a special page at fema.org/LA.

Moments after the announcement of the web
page, due to the amount of online traffic from around the world,
FEMA's servers crashed, causing further panic in the city. There
were reports of looting and one grocery store employee being shot
as he tried to lock the doors of the store against mobs cleaning
out food and supplies from the shelves.

Ignoring appeals to stay home unless
absolutely necessary, churches, mosques and synagogues were filling
with people praying. He surmised that many of them were probably
praying to a God that they largely ignored or forgot when times
were good. An Atheist himself, Bruce felt no shame acknowledging
the fact that people tend to be religious only when faced with
crisis. Once things leveled out and people felt in "control" of
their lives again, God was put back in a drawer only to be appealed
to once more when the next life crisis emerged. This was a simple
and obvious fact, especially among the middle- and upper classes of
American society.

"Kathy, would you book me a flight to LAX –
departure as soon as possible?" Dr. Honegger always kept two
suitcases at the ready in his office for emergency travel. They
were enough to last him three days, he could always purchase any
additional items he required should his stay be extended. A frugal
man from his days of borderline poverty in medical school he packed
only what was necessary, never bringing what wasn't required. His
style of clothing was plain, his favorite shirts worn thin from
use. Bruce wouldn't even consider purchasing a new shirt until
somebody commented on the
gently
used
appearance of
the one he was wearing. Seeing no need for brand names such as Yves
St. Laurent, Bruce favored substance over style; both in people as
well as clothing.

His wife was altogether another story. She
would't be caught dead in last year's styles. Every outfit had
matching shoes and purses. No outfit would be worn twice within a
thirty-day period. Many adorned her body but once. The folks at the
Salvation Army loved her. Bruce suspected it likely that some of
her donations never saw the shelf of a store. Then again, he was
suspicious of just about everything and everybody. A researcher, a
medical detective really, this wasn't an altogether bad quality. It
irked his wife but his income met with her favor so she learned to
accept the good with the bad. In their college years they were
happy eating noodles in broth. He knew she would continue to
appreciate him, independent of money and social status; though the
latter two didn't hurt!

"The ticket has already been booked. Be on
the helicopter pad by 3:00 to be at the airport on time. Takeoff
for LA is scheduled for 3:30. On the ground in LA, you'll be
conveyed to your hotel by military transport."

"Thank you, Kathy." His personal assistant
was so efficient and on top of things that she nearly always had
accomplished a task, such as this, before he even asked. Not a
believer in Extra-Sensory Perception or any of that other psychic
nonsense, Kathy did nonetheless give him pause with her uncanny
skills. Had he taken the time to get to know her better Dr.
Honegger would be surprised to learn that at home she was nearly as
unorganized as one could be. Much like the pipes in a plumber's
home are the last to be fixed, or a chef who's around food all day
doesn't want to make dinner for his own family. Kathy was a
laissez-faire sort at home but nothing escaped her attentions at
work.

Having been his assistant for most of his
career Bruce knew one thing that he even admitted to her, he'd
never have become the CDC Director without her. Her immediate
thought on hearing this was, "Tell me something I don't already
know!" It remained an unspoken thought.

"Will you be back, Dr. Honegger, in time for
my daughter's Bat Mitzvah?" Kathy maintained a strict formality
with him at all times, though she insisted on informality in
return. Bruce couldn't understand why.

"I hope so but if I'm not her gift is . .
."

"In your credenza, left side." There really
just might be something to psychics after all.

Reports streamed to Honegger's computer
throughout the day. Much of the information overlapped when from
different sources: military, FEMA, Los Angeles CDC, and etcetera. A
clearer picture of the total devastation in the apartment building
emerged.

Honegger also kept his finger on the pulse of
local and national media outlets. As panic tightened its grip a
growing number of thugs took to the streets looting shops, burning
cars, and city buses. Riot police moved in with rubber bullets.
When that didn't work tear gas and batons were employed. Scenes of
the police clashing with youth appeared to ratchet up the violence
and civil unrest to new and more dangerous levels. Reports of rapes
and several shootings were reported. By the time Honegger went to
the roof to access the helipad the death toll from mob group
violence exceeded that of the tenants of the apartment building in
question.

"Welcome sir, wheels up in five minutes." The
pilot, appearing anxious, felt it best to not inquire as to their
safety once in L.A. Honegger encountered the same looks of anxiety
on the other two doctors from the CDC also traveling with him.

Somehow, somebody "who remains anonymous
because he did not have authority to speak with the media" reported
to the press that people in the apartment building, including the
first responders, died of what appeared to be "some type of a
possible neuro toxin." The reporters, at the very end of the story,
would add that they had not yet been able to confirm this
information. Covering their collective legal butts.

"We'll be landing on the tarmac in five
minutes. The CDC jet is out of the hangar, prepared for immediate
take-off once all passengers and luggage are secured." Honegger
wondered why announcements in airplanes and helicopters had a
crackling effect on the speaker systems, forcing one to strain to
understand the message.

Paparazzi were gathered in a huddled group at
the airport but kept behind a security fence separating the private
modes of transportation from the public. As if from multiple
serpentine heads of a single Medusa, they at once shouted questions
at the doctors debarking the helicopter. With barely a glance in
their direction all of the doctors boarded the jet. The door was
pulled up and secured as the doctors hurriedly took their seats,
buckling in as the jet lurched forward to begin taxiing maneuvers
for takeoff.

Had Honegger not been among this group of
doctors he knew so well, one of the other doctors, very
accomplished with an ego to match, would have welcomed the
opportunity to gain media attention. This doctor fancied himself a
ladies' man, blithely unaware that the female employees at the CDC
who had to work with him found his self-serving, egocentric
personality repulsive. More amazingly he was average looking, at
best. Some people really do have magic mirrors. Well, he was one of
the very best – sometimes you just have to accept the ego that
sometimes accompanies the brains.

Talk en route was held to a minimum. As
Honegger received updates to his tablet so did his associates – in
this matter there would be no compartmentalizing of duties and
information. They would have to work seamlessly together to
identify what they were dealing with, who "Patient Zero" was, the
method of infection – among dozens of other variables, all as yet
unknown.

A strong Jet Stream headwind added nearly 30
minutes to their estimated time of arrival. One of the conference
rooms of the hotel was secured as a staging area for the various
governmental agencies to interface. The security at the hotel, now
devoid of any paying guests, was impressive. Windows on all
operational floors, such as the conference room, were blacked-out
and each room of each floor, even ducts for the ventilation system,
would be constantly scanned for illicit audio-visual devices. A
free press in a free society was a double-edged sword.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm scheduled to brief
the President in less than an hour. Let's get down to business."
Honegger saw no point in wasting precious time.

Table of Contents

17. As a Dream

". . . the time passed away with us, and also
our lives passed away like as it were unto us a dream..."
-
Book of Mormon, Jacob 7:26

Somewhere in the Negev Desert,
State of Israel

Rachael Siwel went to
the clinic at the
facility to visit with Jeff. From their first meeting she knew that
they would be friends at the start. For his part, Jeff found Dr.
Siwel warm and engaging while maintaining a professional, strictly
ethical distance. This was something he noticed and appreciated,
given their commitment to their respective spouses.

Her visit was as a friend, as well as to
officially assess Stauffenberg's mental and emotional health. Jeff
knew and understood both motives. He was grateful for each.

"Nice to see you up and smiling. Your color
looks good, how does your leg feel?"

"A little sore but no worse for the wear.
I've been remembering dreams about my childhood, fire ants and all,
while wounded and convalescing in Virginia. It's funny what the
mind can do. I've been assured that I'm to be discharged later
today. Pending your assessment."

She felt her face grow warm. Feeling guilty
for doing her job, this was a first. She felt as if she were judge
and jury. Irrational but there it was nonetheless. Jeff laughed at
her flicker of discomfort, instantly setting her at ease.

"Well, since you brought it up, no sense in
beating around the bush! Physical healing and dreams of fire ants
aside, how do you feel mentally?"

"Really, I'm fine. Eager to get out of
here."

"I understand that. Tell me, do you find
yourself tired, confused as to the date or year, or having bad
dreams – anything of that nature?"

"No, my sleep cycle is normal. I find myself
sometimes a little tired during the day. I've noticed that it seems
to happen shortly after receiving pain medication and the tired
feeling wears off within two hours of taking my meds."

"That's to be expected. So your sleep cycle
is normal, but how soundly do you sleep?"

"Once I finally get to sleep, I sleep quite
well. I find it difficult to shut off my thoughts – I lay in bed a
few hours before finally going to sleep. The sheer magnitude of
what we have accomplished, and my part in it, rarely leaves my
thoughts for long."

"Tell me, now that you've returned, how do
you feel about being back in this time frame? Any disorientation,
including physical balance, does anything seem out of place?" The
last part of the final question was as much for other researchers
as for her assessment. Being the person sent back in time, then
returned to his own, Jeff would be the person most uniquely aware
of small changes that might elude everyone else.

"You know Rachael, that is what surprises me
most. I didn't really know what to expect – both in the
19
^th
century and returning to our own. What surprises me
most is that being back seems so ordinary. I thought I would feel
somehow out-of-place but in some ways it's as if my time, the weeks
for me in the 19
^th
century was more a fantasy now than a
reality. Seriously, were it not for the fact that I find myself
back in the facility, with a bullet wound to my leg and what
remains of a blackened eye, I might have easily thought it all to
be a dream."

"What about your time there? How did that
feel for you?"

"Well there were a few cultural and several
linguistic adjustments that I had to make and yet, after a couple
of hours or so if interacting with people, it was almost as if I
had
always
been there. Well, not that I
belonged
per
se but it didn't feel unnatural in the least."