Without a Whimper [HHWC]

The readout glows red, 5:47.

"Get everyone out of the tunnels! NOW! Subways too! They're fumigating. Some kind of genetically engineered nano-bacteria-virus hybrid. Turns people into zombies. It's global. Every city in the world. Coordinated. We have 13 minutes," Bill gasps, collapsing breathless, white, onto a crate between Simon's station and the freight elevator.

"Send it! Now!" he mouths in a grimace, his whisper hoarse, barely audible. Exhausted, his eyes glaze over, his face frozen in stunned shock and disbelief.

Simon's fingers fly over the keyboard, hit SEND.

Mark punches the Red Alert button. The alarms reverberate outside the underground concrete stronghold, echoing in the distance. Doors whump shut, edged with a kind of foam-like insulation that softens the clang. An iridescent plastic-like material drops in rolls from the ceiling, wall to wall, down to the floor.

Julie pulls the red carton off the shelf by the elevator, wrenches it open. Everyone races to the open box, grabbing rolls of shiny silver tape, sealing the translucent seams floor to ceiling, then reinforcing the seals.

Simon and Mark each grab a couple of rolls, secure the elevator doors and shaft. A button releases a second layer of the iridescent material, and then a third. All are sealed independently.

The group works in eery almost-silence. Tape rips, rips, rips again with the kind of sawing sounds an inexperienced carpenter makes correcting bad cuts with an old blade. Distant alarms thrum muffled in the background, a perverted macabre lullaby. Someone stumbles, drops a roll of tape. It hits the floor spinning, collides with a metal chair leg, pings like submarine sonar bouncing off a torpedo.

As one, the team finishes the taping, starts double- and triple-checking every seam and seal. The command post is transformed. The once dull walls now radiate an otherworldly shimmer. It's all good. They're done.

The red readout glows 5:51.

Adrenalin-alert, the team faces the wall of monitors dominating their fortress. Simon keys into security and the screens light up, show a maze of tunnels, masses of running people. One monitor reveals a petrified mother with two small children and a baby, wide-eyed and motionless in a corner.

Bill groans in agony.

"The Producers know exactly what they're doing, Bill," says Julie bitterly.

Another screen shows a bottleneck at a staircase: frightened people pushing, shoving, falling down, getting crushed.

"My God," cries Mark. "They'll never make it. We'll be lucky if we saved 10%."

They all watch the video mayhem in horrified silence, shifting their eyes from screen to screen, searching, hoping for hope. One exit shows a steady stream of rag-tag escapees rushing up onto a crowded subway platform.

Simon turns to Bill. "Are they really doing the subways too?" he asks, incredulous.

"No," Bill answers in a flat tone, "But they can't prevent the stuff from getting into the terminals. …It's acceptable collateral damage. After all, most Producers don't use the subways any more," he snorts in disgust.

The red readout glows 5:57.

Simon jabs the keyboard and the monitors shift to show street exits, streams of people moving onto the sidewalks. Most are walking calmly. Just a few are panicked, running and shoving and shouting warnings; these are mostly ill-kempt and badly dressed, pointedly ignored by the ex-middle-class Consumers, dismissed as irrelevant to the greater scheme.

As the cameras pan across the streets, lines of soldiers come into view. They're fully alert, wearing combat gear and carrying machine guns.

"So it's just another terrorist attack," hisses Crakeur, the youngest, most naive warrior in the group and the least prepared for the authorities' betrayal.

"Of course," sighs Kallie. "What did you expect?"

The troops drop to one knee in unison, raise their weapons, point towards the subway exits.

Bill glances at the clock. It still reads 5:57. "They're starting ahead of schedule!" he gasps.

As the troops open fire, Kalinda explains, resigned, "They heard the sirens."

The security cameras pan to falling and fallen bodies. Men, women and children lay, some writhing, some still, disregarded rubbish littering the streets.

The monitors show street-level exits blocked by bodies, people climbing over corpses to escape, then gunned down to build up the barricade. Some see what's happening and bolt back into the tunnels. Others freeze, uncertain which way to go. Many turn and turn again, taking two or three steps in each direction, back and forth like broken robots.

"They CAN'T cover this up," wails Crakeur. "It's too BIG!"

"Watch," grunts Mark as Simon switches over to mainstream media coverage.

"This just in," says the Anchor's face with an expression of sincere concern above the "Breaking News" banner. "There is a series of coordinated terrorist attacks on subways around the world. We're going live in New York City, with Captain Link of Blackwater-Monsanto Incorporated, whose troops are on contract to the United States Coalition government. What can you tell us about this latest terrorist attack, Captain Link?"

"Well, some kind of fast-acting virus was released in the subways about 15 minutes ago," Captain Link intones gravely. "Fortunately, our intelligence gathering is very good, and we are containing the situation to protect the productive population. American Producers are safe."

The news cameras focus on a few bodies lying in the streets. The Anchor asks, "Are these casualties from the virus?"

"Yes, most are, but some aren't," responds the Captain in a gravelly, compassionate voice. "We've established a perimeter to prevent any infected carriers from exiting the subways and spreading the disease to the Producer population. This is a necessary action, for Consumers' protection."

There is a burst of machine-gun fire in the background, but no visuals. The Captain continues, "Unfortunately, there are millions of homeless non-Producers who live underground beneath the subway system. We do expect significant casualties in the non-productive population - mainly from the virus. However, we have to assume that anyone who was in the subway has been exposed. If these people refuse to go into quarantine or try to run away, then our troops are under orders to fire. Again, this action is necessary to protect our nation's Producers and Consumers."

The Anchor-head nods, and asks, "Just how dangerous is this virus?"

"Extremely dangerous," the Captain states, "Life-threatening. But we CAN contain it underground, and prevent anyone who's been exposed from passing it on. We CAN completely neutralize the threat. Productive members of society WILL be protected."

A fresh burst of gunfire fades to silence; the Captain's face fades to black.

The Anchor-face appears, saying, "The President is now online with an emergency broadcast."

We see the Oval Office and the President seated behind his desk. He speaks calmly, "As you know by now, terrorists around the world have released a deadly virus into all the subway systems of all the world's major cities.

"Fortunately, our intelligence gathering teams learned about these attacks in time to contain the virus. Only the non-producers living underground are at risk. Troops will be searching for infected non-producers and disposing of the contaminated bodies over the next few days.

"The Corporate-Government Coalition is cautioning everyone to stay indoors until this new terrorist threat is fully neutralized, and until ALL potential sources of exposure removed. Our nations' Producers and Consumers are all safe.

"Check for updates on Facebook with your Corporate-Government, and stay online for more breaking news.

"And please, even though they are "useless eaters," remember that non-producers are still human. Try to be compassionate, and say a prayer for their souls."

The camera zooms in for a close-up. Oddly, the President's eyes appear a bit vacant and his speech seems suddenly hesitant as he says, "Thank you and God Bless."

Back at Resistance Command, Byrd yells, "Wait a sec! He just zombied. Check the streets. I need to see what's happening there."

Simon does his thing. The monitors show soldiers milling about aimlessly along with other people on the street. No one seems aware of themselves, others or their surroundings. Some have blood dripping from their eyes and noses.

"Oh no," moans Byrd. "I know what it is." Byrd is a biologist, chemist, molecular biologist, physicist and geneticist. Used to work for the military and Big Pharma. She stares silently at the screens, mouth half open, immobile.

"Tell us," commands Julie after too long. "We need to know."

Byrd takes a breath, her first in about 60 seconds. Lets it out. Waits to breath again before starting to speak.

"Remember NDM-1? The gene that can turn any bacteria into a “superbug” - antibiotic-resistant, powerful, unstoppable? Came out of India they said. In 2010? Remember?

"And those giant viruses that started showing up that year too? Remember? When they finally admitted that viruses could exchange genes with different species and bacteria - not to mention other organisms, like people?

"And remember, they quick pushed through the COICA laws in the US, fast-tracked Bill C-32 in Canada, ACTA in Europe? Said it was all about protecting artists from video and music piracy?

"Well, it was actually about patenting genes and scientific information. None of those laws ever should have passed. Now they're the foundation for global Intellectual Property Rights, secret global corporate government and bio-gaming.

"…What we have here," she says, pointing to the street, "Is a patented hybrid, created from privately-owned patented genes, made by a bunch of self-absorbed idiots who missed the class on gene exchange in living organsims.

"They didn't know the dangers because everything's a big secret. No one talks about their projects, or their piece of a project. Everything's "Intellectual Property." Completely confidential.

"They just made a simple mistake. Basic. Could have been avoided by simple, open communication.

"And it will wipe out the human race," Byrd's voice breaks.

"Stop. Too much information Byrd," Simon interrupts. "Back up. What about the virus? What's happening?"

"It's spreading," Byrd snaps. "It's really contagious. They thought they engineered it not to be, but it is. They forgot -or didn't know- about gene exchange. They forgot about NDM-1 and the actin key and herpes. They forgot that viruses shed and go airborne. They forgot that everything becomes everything else. Because that's the design. Originally. Fundamentally. It's called evolution. And for some stupid reason, they used a gene that accelerates evolution. A gene that speeds the gene exchange process! Oh God," Byrd sobs.

"Please, Byrd. Calm down," Julie soothed. "Help us understand. No one is dying from the virus. No one is going crazy or getting violent. It looks like we have a window here."

"No, we don't," Byrd gulps. "It's a true zombie virus. Victims can walk around, sure, but they won't feed themselves or seek shelter from the cold. They'll walk off cliffs or drown or starve, and never think to save themselves.

"…I worked on a project with a zombie virus twenty years ago. We infected everything from fruit flies to ferrets. Never did find a cure or any kind of treatment. Lab gossip said the virus was an old bio-weapon, that it had escaped years before and caused Alzheimer's and other dementias outside the Lab. I just took my payouts and kept my mouth shut."

"Okay," said Mark tightly. "But viruses go inactive. What are we looking at here? Fifteen, maybe twenty-four hours of active virus in the environment, after everyone who's infected dies?"

Byrd laughs harshly. "Try 6 or 8 months. Maybe more. They probably used some flu genes, just for good measure. Flu viruses don't inactivate quickly or easily. And they survive heat and cold just fine."

"We have enough food and air for a year. Is that enough?" Simon is tense.

"I don't know," Byrd shrugs, back in gear. "Maybe they inserted a suicide gene. Maybe it will work. No guarantees. But even if I had a specimen, I couldn't figure it out by myself. All the science is patented and copyrighted. Totally secret. Nothing is published. I'd have to start from the beginning. And our Lab here sucks."

Awesome story Sofi!

You wove it all together, and the most "horrifying" thing is, your "fiction" isn't so far from our reality, sad to say. The implications of a world that has essentially bowed to profit, on every level, empowering corporations devoid of humanity, might one day come to "extremes" that anyone can finally see. And yet, as extreme as your fictional story is, killing the "useless eaters", many of us know this is in fact what is going on right now, in many different ways. Fast or slow, but Death always marching forward, to the beat of an elite few, who have arrogated immense power unto themselves, at the expense of the rest of us that they have already judged unworthy to live.

I was looking forward to your entry, and I'm sure others will agree that you did not disappoint. S & F!!

JR

reply to post by JR MacBeth


Thanks JR. ...Now I'm trying to catch up on reading everyone else's submissions! Some GREAT stuff.

...but the doorbell keeps ringing and ringing... I read, flag, star, and I run.

Good job, and very plausible. I like that. S&F.

NOOO!!! That was fantastic! I kid you not couldn't read it fast enough! You have to be tricking us with the ending right? Say it ain't so soficrow...

In the midnight hour she cried more more more!

Thanks Ceriddwen and antar - much appreciated.

...more coming, yes. All is not lost, least of all the serial potential.

Fantastic story. You really wove it together well. It gripped my attention from start to finish.

Well Done! S&F

reply to post by BearTruth


Aw shucks, BearTruth.

Thanks.

Radarloveguy just posted this story under Breaking News:

The tunnel people of Las Vegas.

Worth checking out.