Extermination Day (6 page)

Paulson studied the list again.

Who would be the best generalists? 

No one really stuck out. Other than military and security personnel, there were lawyers, businessmen and women, and Washington bureaucrats. No survivalists, that was for sure.

“I’ve met just about everybody on the flight and know several of them well,” Paulson said. “But I don’t know how any of them would perform in such a stressful extreme situation. I would just be guessing.”

Farrow looked at the list, squinting at the names and profiles. “I have to agree with you. No one really stands out based on the limited information we have here. If we had more time to interview and vet them, we could make a better decision.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have that luxury. I could just randomly pick them myself, but I think we need some sort of buy-in from the people, otherwise we may have a riot on our hands for the suits.”

“A lottery,” Farrow said, snapping his fingers. “Draw straws?”

“It’s as good an idea as any. Can you get the straws? We’ll need fifty-
nine long and three short. The three short ones will get the suits.”

“Let me run to the mess and get the straws, and we’ll be ready to go.”

“I’ll call a meeting in the main cabin on deck two. I’ll explain the situation and then we’ll draw. And send in Demetrius and Jones; I want to let them know what we’ve decided before the meeting.”

A half hour later, President Paulson called a meeting of everyone on board, with the exception of the pilots. Moments later he was standing before them in the main cabin. Paulson had given many speeches in his lifetime, but the one he was about to deliver was no doubt the gravest.

“Everyone has been briefed on the situation before us. It is unprecedented. We have no idea who or what is behind these attacks. The evidence indicates that much of the world’s population has been eliminated. Billions are dead. Our nation has been reduced to just a remnant of its greatness. And all this has happened in fewer than five hours.”

“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt.” A young congressional liaison, Richard, waved his hand. He was a representative of the Speaker of the House. He was, of course, from the other party, and had been a real thorn in Paulson’s side since the start of the Diaz administration. It seemed that Paulson couldn’t get away from politics even now, in a time of unparalleled crisis.

“Mr. President, we’ve seen the feeds and all the news coverage and everyone just dying on camera. But we’ve seen nothing with our own eyes. We’re here in the air, thirty thousand feet above everything. We don’t know if this is some sort of ruse. The Chinese have hacked us before. This could be part of an elaborate hoax designed to compromise us and throw the government into confusion. The real attack could be coming later.”

Hmmm. So others were starting to doubt the validity of the videos as well. Paulson was still waiting to hear back from General Rowan to get confirmation of the attack and the possible involvement of the Chinese, so he couldn’t go off half-speculating in front of everyone.

“Richard, until we have information showing us otherwise, we have to assume that this attack is real. I know the whole thing seems incredible and that we don’t want to believe it’s really happened, but I’ve received firsthand accounts on secure channels from General Rowan in NORAD as well as other government and military officials in secure bases around the globe.”

“But, Mr. President, I just don’t see how it’s possible that so many people could have been killed all over the planet so quickly.”

“It is unbelievable, I agree, but the CDC has confirmed the numbers. They could be wrong in their analysis. There could be more survivors out there. We just won’t know until later. And as you’ve seen from the information I provided, this is an engineered virus. It was designed to kill us.”

“But who would have done such a thing?” asked a woman to his right. One of the reporters, Myra Goldstein.

He couldn’t tell them everything he knew, especially with reporters on board. Anything he said would be broadcast to the world, and that meant the Chinese would hear.

He took a deep breath. Released it. “We’re still investigating at this time, and I’m not prepared to speculate. NORAD has informed me that this virus originated in the meteor dust cloud that saturated the planet yesterday afternoon. That’s all I can report right now. So, if you could please hold your questions and comments until I’ve said what I need to say. It’s the reason I called you here.” He deliberately took the time to meet the gaze of everyone in the room. “The pilots tell me that we’re running low on fuel and have to land. Air Force One is capable of being refueled in the air, but there are no other planes running. So the nearest and best option for us is to land at a secure base in the mountains of West Virginia. The base is located about a half hour from the airport, underground at the Greenbrier Resort. The base has a full decontamination facility as well as food, fresh water, clean air, and space for housing all of us for months.”

There were sighs of relief and smiles from most everyone, along with exclamations of “Thank God!”

“There is a problem, though,” Paulson said, holding his hands out to settle the group. “We have to
get
to the base. The CDC informs me that the air is still filled with the deadly nanovirus. Anyone coming in contact with it, either breathing it in or through skin contact, will become infected. Once infected, death occurs in less than an hour. On board we have enough gas masks for everyone, which will filter the virus from the air as you breathe it. But . . . ” He looked over the anxious men and women hanging on his every word, studying their faces, hating to destroy their hope. “But we only have eight full biohazard decontamination suits to guard against skin contact.”

Several people gasped, and murmuring rustled through the group. Someone started to sob.

“These suits were designed to protect the wearers from nuclear fallout or an extreme biological weapon attack, so they’ll keep the virus out. Each is also equipped with the latest Med-AI system to monitor vital signs and provide medical care as needed. For the sake of the continuation of the United States government, it’s been decided that I and the Secretary of State will each get a suit. Two other suits will go to senior security officers, Colonel Steve Demetrius and Special Agent Dante Jones, who will be able to protect all of us. Another suit will go to the chief physician on board, Dr. Rosemary Peebles. For the remaining three suits, I have decided that everyone else will draw straws. The three shortest will get the bio-suits.”

“You’re going to leave the rest of us to die!” yelled out one woman.

Paulson turned to Dr. Peebles, who was standing close to him, and nodded to her. “No, we are not, but Dr. Peebles can give you more information,” he said.

Dr. Peebles cleared her throat. “You can protect your skin from exposure for a short time by dressing in multiple thick layers of clothing and covering all exposed skin. If you have gloves and scarves, wear them. If you have sweaters and ski jackets, wear them as well. Wear socks on your hands if you don’t have gloves. Those of you with extra clothing in the main compartment, please lend some to others who may not be so fortunate. All the luggage stored in the baggage area has been contaminated and cannot be used.”

“I only have this suit, no winter jacket, no gloves,” yelled out one man.

“Me too,” said another.

“I’m wearing a skirt and don’t have any long pants or even a jacket,” yelled out a woman in panic.

Paulson stepped forward again. “The military personnel on board will help with the sorting of clothes. I suggest you lay everything out in a pile and those without proper cover will be given something.”

“Is that going to be enough?” Richard, the Speaker’s aide, asked. “Can a jacket really keep the virus out while we drive to this base?”

Dr. Peebles nodded. “It is possible. I haven’t tested this virus, so I don’t know its specific properties, but other airborne viruses that are infectious via skin contact can be held at bay for short periods by just layering clothing. The thicker and less breathable the material is, the safer you’ll be. This means clothing made out of nylon is best and worst would be thin cotton. This is all I can tell you right now.”

Several more from the crowd started yelling and complaining.

“It’s the best shot you have,” Paulson said. “You can cover up as best you can and try to make it to the base alive, or you can stay here on the plane and die. It’s up to you.” He was tired of dealing with sniveling bureaucrats. “If you want to live, you’re going to have to fight for it.”

That dose of stern reality seemed to hit the crowd and they quieted down.

“We land in forty-five minutes,” he told them. “Those with bio-suits will exit the plane using the emergency exit chutes so that contaminated air won’t be able to enter the cabin. We’ll find shuttles and other forms of transportation to take everyone else to the base. Then you’ll exit the plane and make your way as fast as possible to the transport vehicles. The drive should be about
thirty minutes. Once inside the bunker, we can enter the biohazard decontamination area and wash to remove any virus clinging to our clothes. Everyone will be quarantined upon arrival at the base to see if you’ve contracted the virus. Dr. Peebles will coordinate our efforts there. Questions?”

“Why are there only eight suits on board?” one woman asked.

“Budget cuts,” Paulson said simply.

Looking like sad puppets, everyone nodded. Having worked in Washington, they knew all too well about budget cuts.

“Anyone else?” Paulson asked. “I wish there were enough bio-suits for all. I wish we hadn’t been attacked. I wish that billions of people hadn’t died.” He touched the shoulder of the woman on his right, the man on his left. “I wish your loved ones and mine hadn’t died.” He paused again, not sure his voice would hold. Then he said, “This is not only the gravest threat that the United States has ever faced, it’s the greatest threat humanity has ever faced. It’s up to us to do what we can to survive. I’m sorry I don’t have better news, people. But now is the time you look deep inside yourselves and draw up the energy and strength that I know you have in there. We can do this.” Paulson looked over the crowd again, searching for courage, for strength, in them. He saw hope, some hope, returning to their faces.

“Now for the straws.”

Colonel Demetrius stepped forward. “I have three short straws here, and the rest are long.” He showed the straws. “I’ll hold them in my hands, and everyone will get a chance to choose. Those that pick the short straws will walk to the next cabin and receive instructions on how to put on and operate the bio-suits. The rest of you will receive gas masks and instructions on how to use them and how to best cover any exposed areas of your body.” Demetrius was firm, his voice strong and direct.

Several responded with “Yes, sir,” and others nodded.

“Very well then. Here we go.”

Paulson watched as the colonel extended his hands and each person—senior staffers, assistants, military personnel, reporters, and a few businessmen and financial donors, plus many good friends—walked forward to pick their straw. The mood was somber and as silent as a funeral as people drew their potential fate.

The first short straw went to Melinda Rider, one of Paulson’s staff. He smiled, just a small stretching of his lips, when she waved her straw at him.

There was some scuffling as two men tried to reach for a straw at the same time. One of the security staff, Lieutenant Darren
McMiller, in fatigues and carrying a Colt Enhanced M4 Individual Carbine machine gun, stepped over and both men quickly backed away. Colonel Demetrius then extended the straws to the lieutenant. He pulled the second short straw, and both of the other men looked angry.

“Is there going to be trouble here, gentlemen?” Demetrius asked.

“No, sir,” they said in unison.

Paulson recognized them both as wealthy campaign donors. One was Chilton McIntosh, and both had given sizeable donations for the privilege of riding with the vice president on Air Force Two while the president was delivering his State of the Union address.

The drawing continued, with one short straw remaining. They were down to about ten people. Demetrius drew straws for the pilots, both long. The final short straw ended up going to a reporter with the Washington Post, Harold Bigsby. Paulson frequently read his column and felt that he generally portrayed both sides of a story well. The man was extremely overweight, however. Paulson guessed he was over 300 pounds. That could be a problem if they needed to do any physical activity. Paulson also thought there was a chance that the bio-suit would be too small for him.

So that was the three. With the exception of
Bigsby, everyone was in good physical condition. Even Paulson, who was easily the oldest in the group, still got up every morning and ran five miles. He also swam when he could. Staying in top physical condition was a habit that had started when he was a SEAL, and he’d stuck with it through his whole life.

Before the lucky three with the short straws moved to the next cabin and everyone started getting ready for the landing, Paulson had one last thing to say.

“I want to take a moment. There are many religions represented among you, so you can take the time to pray to your God or Gods as you see fit. But the one tie that binds us is that we are Americans. So I thought it fitting that we stand together and recite the Pledge of Allegiance and then, if Miss Rider would come forward and sing the National Anthem, I would appreciate it.”