Occupation (4 page)

“I didn’t think you’d be able to make it,” he said.

“I needed to see you, both of you,” Caroline said urgently.  “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Okay, so talk,” Nicodemus replied. 

The sudden hesitation in Caroline’s demeanor clued Barabbas in to the fact that something wasn’t right.  Caroline was usually the epitome of calm, cool and collected.  Something
just wasn’t right.

“Not here,” she said.  “Let’s go to Gabriel’s.  There’s something you both need to hear.”

***

About an hour
later, the MINI sped down the street and stopped on a dime in front of Gabriel’s place, with Nicodemus’ usual playful teasing of Barabbas’ ‘granny shifting’ as he put it.  The playful banter between the two did quite a bit to calm Caroline down in preparation for what information she was about to divulge.  Just like the old days in college, the gang hadn’t changed much in spite of the world they now inhabited.  That familiar whimsical whir of Gabriel’s brilliantly polished trumpet singing in the night air was music to Caroline’s ears as they exited the car.  The old man greeted Barabbas with a warm hug.

“I thought I heard that obnoxious growling from what you call a car,” the old man quipped.  “I see you brought some classy company for a change,” he said as Caroline made her way up the porch steps.  He playfully kissed her hand.  She beamed. 

“Monsieur,” she smiled as she greeted him.

“Madame,” he replied with a lumin
ous smile in return.  “Always a pleasure.”

Nicodemus looked on perturbed.

“You never kissed my hand old man.”

“
Fuck off you broke dick cocksucker,” Gabriel replied.

Caroline erupted with laughter as they all entered the house.  Just like old times.  Just like old times indeed.  T
hey all gathered around a modest coffee table as Gabriel prepared tea.  A tall, grizzled yet humble figure, his home was a virtual museum of old historical photos, covering everything from the Jazz Age all the way up to Hurricane Katrina.  Caroline thanked the old man with her usual kiss on the cheek, to which he was clearly a sucker for.  Nicodemus would always follow suit, looking for a playful peck to which he’d always get the usual finger from both Caroline and Gabriel.  It was a light and playful routine they went through for years.  One normal American family.  Barabbas declined tea for his usual late night drink-absinthe, the green fairy.  It was a romantic, mystical drink that took him for a nostalgic stroll of sorts to more idyllic memories of old New Orleans back before the slaughter.  He’d taken Caroline out for drinks after dinner one dreamy, moonlit night years ago to an absinthe bar known as Pravda.  That first taste-that first kiss of the green fairy consumed him nearly as much as the taste of his beloved Caroline herself.  Under a romantic, moonlit night accentuated by stars that beamed like diamonds, the duo walked arm in arm along the banks of the Mississippi River.  It was the first time he kissed her.  The perfect memory crackled through his brain as he slowly ingested the drink. 
Clandestine
.  Known as a ‘Swiss La Bleue’ absinthe.  Alluring.  Captivating.  Sublime.  It was in every way the embodiment of Caroline in liquid form.   

“So…what’
s the big mystery?” Barabbas asked.  The hesitation in Caroline was now more evident than ever, but she braced herself anyway.

“What I’m going to tell you isn’t something that’s widely known.  In fact, I only found this out recently
from a colleague at the CDC,” she said.  Everything we’ve heard either through the news or word of mouth about this virus is complete bullshit,” she said.

“You mean the whole ‘bath salt’ story?” Gabriel asked.

“Exactly,” Caroline replied.  “The bath salt story was just a cover for what’s really been going on…and has been happening for years.”

“Ok…what?” Barabbas demanded.  The suspense was agitating him.  Caroline braced herself.

“You guys familiar with something called the Mariel Boatlift?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Nicodemus said.  “That was the opening in Scarface right?”

“I’m not talking about the movie jackass,” Caroline retorted.  “I’m talking about the real event.”

“Ok, so what about it?” Barabbas asked.
  Caroline sipped her tea, choosing the next words carefully.

“The Mariel Boatlift was a bit of an ‘exodus’ shall we say; a mass immigration of Cubans over to
the United States which took place between April and October of 1980.  See in those days, the Carter administration had a vested interested in Havana, with Castro having a bit of the same in Washington.  Castro agreed to the release of several political prisoners in exchange for the U.S. granting acceptance of several thousands of Cubans from the island.  As a result, over 10,000 Cubans left their homeland for America, landing on the shores of Miami.  Problem is, many of these people were not only mentally ill, but criminals, homosexuals and whatnot.”

“I’m not following you,” Barabbas replied.  “What does this all have to do with our problem?”

“I’m getting to that,” Caroline replied.  “Infuriated over facets of America’s foreign policy along with its growing immigration problems, several key members of the Republican Party deliberated for months over what course of action to take.  Big bankers, oil men, politicians, you name it gathered in private to come up with a plan.  The one that was decided on was quite a subversive one to say the least.  One that still haunts us to this day.”

The suspense in the room was stifling.  All eyes focused intently on Caroline as she struggled with her next words.

“In 1981, the first reports of the disease now known as HIV/AIDS surfaced, with rumors quickly spreading that it originated in the homosexual community.  More rumors later surfaced that the disease really originated from a green monkey in Africa, but none of those stories were actually true.”

“And? Nicodemus demanded.  “What does this have to do with-“

“It was all a lie,” Caroline fired back.  “Now we’ve all heard rumors for years that HIV/AIDS was man-made but there was always very little relevance to that theory, until now.  In an effort to cure America of its growing ‘immigration problem’, our government designed a virus, one that could systematically destroy the human immune system in a way that no one would ever suspect anything sinister…
a sexually transmitted disease
.”

Barabbas was taken
back by her words. 

“Caroline, baby you’re not making a lick of sense.  How could a sexually transmitted disease cause what’s happening now?  HIV/AIDS has been around for years, and nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“That’s because the disease was virtually dormant by today’s standards,” Caroline said.  “Yes it still broke down the immune system resulting in eventual death, but something else happened.  Something that the geniuses in our government never saw coming occurred.  The cocktail no longer works because the virus has started to mutate into a much more aggressive form, far beyond what the cocktail can control.  People aren’t just dying Barabbas.  They’re dying and their bodies are being reanimated.”

“Goddammit!” Gabriel shouted.  “It’s the goddamned Tuskegee Experiment all over again!”

“The what?” Nicodemus asked.

“The Tuskegee Experiment,” Gabriel said.  “Back in the 1930s and 40s, the U.S. government did a clandestine study on the effects of untreated syphilis in African-Americans.  Back in those days the people thought they were receiving free medical care.  What resulted became a scandal as well as a tragedy of epic proportions.  And now the bastards are doing it all over again.”

“Exactly,” Caroline intervened.  “Not only that, but those ‘high crime zones’ around the city that we aren’t allowed to enter are more than what they seem as we originally suspected.  Anyone infected with HIV/AIDS is isolated to those areas.  Serial codes are imprinted onto the skin. No one ever gets in or out, and even that’s becoming a problem lately.  People are changing faster than the local police expected.  They’re losing control over those areas and it won’t be long before those people get out.”

“What ha
ppens when they die?” Nicodemus asked.

“Once the virus kills the person, they are reanimated.  Then…execution.”

A profound silence swept through the room.  Neither person could believe what they’d just heard.  It all seemed way too far-fetched.  Could a government-engineered sexually transmitted disease actually turn people into zombies?  It sounded like something out of a bad B-horror film, yet here they were in the middle of something that no one dared dream could possibly happen.

“There have been protests all throughout the country over the healthcare debate, with the main emphasis being Viractyn,” Caroline said.

“Well I guess so!” Nicodemus fired back.  “People are afraid they’ll turn into fucking zombies!” 

“They’re afraid, but not for that reason,” Caroline replied.  “Remember, the American public doesn’t really know what Viractyn is for.  They think it’s the long sought after cure for HIV/AIDS.  They don’t know that the virus man
y are living with as we speak is mutating inside them.  The bottom line is people are becoming zombies either by carrying the virus or being bitten by someone who does.  One bite is all it takes.  Once bitten, the person can turn anywhere from a few minutes up to an hour, some with freakish strength.  We’re way past
Night of the Living Dead
here and Viractyn is supposed to be the cure.”

Barabbas sa
t expressionless as Gabriel and Nicodemus weighed the effect of Caroline’s words.  It wasn’t exactly clear whether it was the horror of what she said or the effects of absinthe that were now dulling his senses.  He simply sat on the couch and drifted for a moment.  Gabriel reached for his famed trumpet, but then thought better of it.  Instead, he grabbed from a holster on the wall one of his most prized possessions-a gleaming Gretsch White Falcon guitar.  Cradling the blistering beauty in his arms, he sat on a stool and played a few of the most beautiful and haunting chords imaginable before drifting off into some powerful Blues.  As Gabriel stared off into the ceiling and sang, all just listened.  After the recent information that was divulged, what else could be said?  All that was left was the weight of the moment itself…and the foreboding stillness of the night…

***

The days and weeks that followed came and went as if they all existed on the verge of some archaic Doomsday clock, with the future uncertain.  More groups went off into the abandoned sections of New Orleans, clearing away hordes of the infected.  News reports of the healthcare debate persisted, with riots now breaking out in areas from Times Square to D.C. and all the way out as far as Berkley and Oakland.  America was eating itself away from within.  More and more innocent people were dying.  As Barabbas and Nicodemus went through their usual daily routines of clearing away the infected from areas where they might spill over into other parts of the city, Barabbas prayed for strength while finding comfort in the tender embrace of Caroline.  As gunshots ripped through the city, Barabbas and Caroline savored every moment to make love under the stars, devouring each other intensely as if each moment were their last.  In the world that surrounded them, no one knew when that fateful day was coming.

The first week of Mardi Gras kicked off with its usual high caliber spirit of excitement and debauchery as if nothing else mattered.  People throughout various parts of the world flocked to the city to enjoy the festivities.  Many came for the Super Bowl.  Most came to get away from the slaughter of their hometowns in search of fun times in the ‘Big Easy’.  It was both insulting and disgraceful how the city’s ‘leaders’ carried on.  A true embodiment of Babylon if there ever was one indeed.

When the big day arrived, thousands flocked to the Mercedes-Benz Superdome as the Super Bowl would begin in a matter of moments.  The scene was one of pure electricity and excitement as the hometown team was hosting the event.  Roger Goodell had done an impeccable job of sticking it to the Saints, and the crowd certainly made him aware of their displeasure by wearing masks of coach Sean Payton’s face.  He would definitely remember this day, especially if the boys won.  Drew Brees was in rare form, revving up the team just before the start of the game.  This was our city.  Our house.  We are New Orleans.  We are the ‘Who Dat Nation’, and absolutely nothing was going to destroy this day for us.  Against the wishes of her parents during a heated argument, Caroline chose to spend the day with Barabbas.  Throughout homes and bars in the city, all eyes were glued to television screens as hordes of reporters reported on the action at the start of the kickoff.  Millions watched as the football soared high into the air under the bright lights of the Dome.  Then, as quickly as it came, the excitement, majesty and hype soon turned to confusion as the Superdome suddenly went dark.

“What th
e fuck?” Barabbas, Nicodemus, Caroline and Gabriel all screamed in unison.

Nothing but complete and utter silence followed by a growing confusion swept the city.  A power outage at the start of the most important game in the city had occurred.  Conflicting news reports flooded the stations as reporters struggled to get an accurate account of what exactly happened.
  Inside the Dome there was silence, followed by confusion…then panic as a thunderous roar was soon growing.  In the haunting darkness of the stadium, people scrambled to find the cause of whatever it was.  Parents gripped their children close.  The coaching staff for both teams tried their best to restore some type of order and get confirmation on when power would be restored…
but it was too late
.  Not since the horrendous fury that was Hurricane Katrina ripped through the confines of the stadium had the people heard such an eerie sound.   That thunderous roar coming from outside the Dome was growing more powerful…and more vicious.  Followed by a thunderous pounding, news reporters and cameramen struggled with makeshift lights to get a visual.  What they got was disastrous.