And maybe when he woke up, Jeff would be back to normal.
GUINEA PIG
Paulius Klimas sat at the SPA’s conference table. He stared at a blank screen, waiting for a call. Once the call began, he’d get one minute. Even that much was a blessing, a courtesy done for him by Murray Longworth.
Paulius had lost men before. Five so far, all on missions that had never been announced, never been recorded. Every one of those deaths had been hard. Each time he’d questioned his leadership abilities, wondered if he could have done something different to bring that man home alive.
But this was the hardest of all.
Longworth had needed a volunteer. Since Levinson couldn’t fight, Paulius gave the man first dibs. Levinson understood that if he didn’t go, another SEAL would go in his place.
So Levinson had accepted.
Now, Paulius was about to hear the results.
The screen flared to life. He found himself looking at Levinson: in a hospital bed surrounded by clear glass walls, but bright-eyed and smiling.
“Commander,” Levinson said. He saluted.
Paulius returned the salute. Some of his pent-up stress bled away.
“You look good for a lab animal,” Paulius said. “What have they told you?”
“Looks like that awful crap Doctor Feelygood brewed actually works. I’m eighteen hours in. If I was infected, I’d probably have a sore throat, fever and aches, but I feel fine. Other than where I was shot, I mean. That still hurts like a bitch. They said painkillers could mask infection symptoms, so this little piggy gets none.”
More of the stress eased. Paulius hadn’t realized he’d carried the pressure in his chest — it suddenly felt much easier to breathe. Levinson seemed fine. More than that, the mission to recover Feely, Montoya and their research had turned out to be critical after all.
Even though the infection had somehow escaped the task force, he and his men had made a difference.
The screen beeped: time was up.
Paulius saluted. “Your courage is immeasurable, Roger. If you don’t turn into a plant, drinks are on me.”
The wounded man returned the salute. “As long as it’s something besides what Feelygood makes, I’ll take you up on that offer.”
The image blinked out.
Paulius stared at the blank screen. He and his men had twelve more days of quarantine, as did Feely, Otto, Montoya and the Coronado’s crew. He’d given his men a few hard-earned days off, but no more — it was time to start combat drills.
He and his SEALs were immune. If the shit hit the fan, they might be called upon once again.
They would be ready.
DAY EIGHT
#TAKETHEMEDS
@DrDurakMerc
Don’t be a sheeple! Trust the government to give you your shots? Then you get what you deserve.
@ARealGirl
What the fuck is wrong with you anti-vaxers? This disease turns people into MURDERERS. Drink the fucking inoculant already, or you’ll kill us all.
@TwistahSistahBB5
I don’t get this hostility — if you want to take their drugs, take them, if I don’t want to, that’s my choice! It’s a Big Pharma trick.
@BadAstronomer
Hey, antivaxers, heard of a thing called “the news”? You know, those fancy moving pictures that keep showing what happened on the Brashear? #TakeTheMeds
@BootyHooty912
You don’t want to drink your gunk? Shit, dawg, give it here — I’ll put it next to my Glock, which you’ll see again when you change.
MANIPULATION
She had to find a way to control the men.
Margaret sat with her back against the mission module’s thin, metal wall, her thighs parallel to the ground, her feet on the floor — the chair position. Her thighs burned. A fight was coming: she needed to be strong.
At the count of one hundred, she bent forward, extended her body and started doing push-ups.
One… two… three… four…
Math. The most basic language of the galaxy. The language created by God. Not the human god, or gods, but the real god.
Sixteen… seventeen… eighteen…
If the men on this ship had converted, she knew she would have been able to control them. They would have followed her, did whatever she said; God had made it that way. But the men weren’t converted — they were merely human.
Human, yes, but trained killers. Dangerous.
Thirty-four… thirty-five… thirty-six…
She was smarter than they were. She could find a way to make them do what she wanted. If she started now, when the right time came she could play them against each other. Or, at least, she could stay alive long enough to find her own kind.
Fifty-nine… sixty… sixty-one…
Her arms and chest burned. She ignored the pain. Years spent hiding away had made her soft. She needed to make her body hard.
Clarence would be the easiest to manipulate. She knew what motivated him — the simple sentiment of a soon-to-be extinct species: he loved.
One hundred two… one hundred three… one hundred four…
BIG PHARMA
EXCERPT FROM THE WEBSITE “BEYOND TOP SECRET”
By SmrtEnough2See
For decades the government has been the pawn of Big Pharma, funneling billions of taxpayer dollars to companies that produce improperly tested drugs and vaccines. And now that same government is telling you that you must take this new “inoculant” drug for the mysterious “alien infection”? An infection that has not been proven to exist? And a drug that has not been properly tested, even by the rubber-stamping Big Pharma pawn known as the FDA?
The government “tested” the drugs and vaccines that gave our children autism. Our friendly overlords aren’t even bothering to pretend to test things anymore.
And now our government says we must take this untested “medicine.” If we don’t, why, we’ll become murderers! We’ll kill our own families!
How frightening, and how convenient.
Until the government publishes the science behind this claim, do not believe the lies.
Demand information. Demand proof.
THE WEST COAST
The Situation Room was getting crowded.
Murray tried not to stare across the table at the latest person to join the party. Dr. Frank Cheng looked like the cat that ate the canary: smug, self-satisfied and quite impressed with his new place of importance.
You don’t even realize you’re choice number two, jackass — if Margo wasn’t stuck on that ship, she’d be here instead.
Murray, Cheng, Admiral Porter, André Vogel, the president and a standing-room-only crowd of other directors, assistants and important people listened to Nancy Whittaker, secretary of homeland security, describe the massive inoculation project.
“The West Coast response was phenomenal,” Whittaker said. “All major breweries and ninety percent of independents have cultures and are either in full production or close to it. Bakeries all over the country have joined in. They’re collaborating with any bottling facility they can find. We estimate that eighty-five percent of the populations of Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Oakland, San Jose and San Diego are inoculated. The Los Angeles basin is lagging behind at around sixty-five percent.”