By Friday night nobody was making jokes about the brain eaters. The wave of new seizures that began on Thursday grew to a flood on Friday. Hospitals were filling rapidly not only with bona fide victims of the parasites but with almost everybody who had a headache, or thought he did. Some medical personnel were reluctant to treat the people brought in as rumors spread about the contagious nature of the brain eaters.
The public, now afraid and confused, clamored for action. Health authorities were urged to do something. Anything. A quarantine was suggested. The health authorities would have been happy to oblige, but they had no idea where to start. From the original concentration of attacks around New York, Milwaukee, and Seattle, the seizures had spread to all parts of the country. The authorities could do little more than issue calming reports that calmed no one.
It soon became evident that the parasites could strike anyone, regardless of age, sex, race, economic circumstances, or geographic location. Nevertheless, with the dearth of hard facts, rumors sprang up like toadstools in manure. Calamity is easier to face when there is someone to blame it on.
The homosexual community was an early target. Remembering the recent AIDS scare, groups of men marched on gay bars and community centers with guns, clubs, axes, torches, and fists. They did not stop to ask themselves how beating up a few homosexuals would protect anybody from the brain-destroying parasite.
In Detroit the blacks blamed the Jews. In Los Angeles the Jews blamed the Arabs. In Berkeley a feminist leader blamed men. In St. Louis the conservatives blamed the liberals. In Miami the Jews, blacks, Cubans, Haitians, and WASPs blamed one another.
Before the weekend was over, hardly a group had not been accused by some other group of bringing the new plague upon the nation. Communists, Hare Krishnas, Orientals, union members, meat eaters, nuclear plants, Indians, doctors, politicians, poor people, the media, and visitors from space had all taken their share of heat from a frightened and frustrated populace.
Throughout the weekend the appalling stories continued.
In Manchester, New Hampshire, a Sunday school teacher broke off in mid-sentence, ripped a wooden chair apart, and attacked his class with the jagged legs. Two of the children were killed and six injured severely before the teacher was subdued by half a dozen men from an adult class in the next room.
In Santa Monica a body builder suddenly began to scream and rush about the gym, attacking people with a forty-pound dumbbell. He caved in the skulls of the gym owner and his best friend, then ran out onto Pacific Coast Highway and threw himself under the wheels of a Gray Line tour bus.
In New Orleans a customer complained to the bartender that the music was blowing his mind, then, without waiting for a response, leaped on the bandstand and killed a seventy-year-old trumpet player with his own instrument as the rest of the band watched in impotent horror.
In Los Angeles a well-dressed woman driving a bronze Mercedes inexplicably swung her car broadside near the junction of the Harbor and Santa Monica freeways, causing an accident involving two hundred cars and tying up traffic for many miles in all directions. When rescuers reached her, they found her face a mass of raw lesions and her throat ripped out by her own hands.
On a Caribbean cruise ship the captain, two crewmen, and a middle-aged woman passenger went berserk at approximately the same time and ran screaming through the ship attacking anyone in their path. The radio operator managed to get off an SOS before his neck was snapped and the ship set afire. By the time a Liberian tanker reached the scene, more than a hundred people were dead.
The list of dreadful seizures continued until a public numbed by horror upon horror no longer responded to fresh stories. Published reactions, official and otherwise, provided little relief.
From Washington came a message from the surgeon general assuring the populace that there was nothing to worry about. He would have had a hard time convincing the crowd of baseball fans watching the Portland Beavers shut out Salt Lake City on Thursday as almost simultaneously a dozen people in the stands and one catcher in the Portland bullpen went berserk and created bloody mayhem in the park.
On Thursday night in Biloxi, Mississippi, Reverend Cadwallader of the New Faith and Final Judgment Church proclaimed it the end of the world and led thirty followers to the top of a nearby hill, the better to be close to heaven when the big transfer began. On Sunday evening they were still waiting.
On Sunday night the president spoke to the nation. Everyone who was still unaffected by the terrible new plague was in front of a television set, tensely waiting for some word of assurance.
“My fellow Americans … without warning our country has been struck by an insidious, invisible enemy. As in the past, when the American people have been threatened and have rallied to defeat those who would destroy us and our way of life, I must call on you tonight to join with me in meeting this new, terrible crisis….”
Corey Macklin, Dena Falkner, and Lou Zachry, the government man, were among the millions watching the president’s telecast. They were wedged with about fifty others into a narrow Milwaukee bar that was built to hold half that many.
“This is a time calling for personal sacrifice as we mobilize all the forces at our command to repel this invader.”
“I don’t believe it,” Corey said. “He’s going to declare war on the brain eaters.”
Zachry gave him a hard look.
“Hush,” Dena said. “Let’s at least hear what the man has to say.”
The president was not reassuring. His usual robust tan seemed to have paled several shades. One eyelid had developed a twitch, and his rich, practiced voice had a quaver that reflected more than his age.
The essence of his message was to remain calm. Local authorities were bringing the situation under control.
“Bullshit,” Corey muttered. Several men standing nearby grunted their agreement. Dena kicked him in the shin.
The people were asked to report all suspected cases of the new epidemic. The president avoided using the term “brain eaters.” Stay out of crowds, they were told. Do not attempt to leave population centers. Stay tuned to radio or television for late developments. Obey law-enforcement officers. Help was on the way. Trust in God.
As the president concluded his short message, Corey swallowed the last of his beer, which had grown warm in the glass. He said, “For a minute there I thought he was going to leave out the Almighty.”
“Like it or not, the Almighty may be our only hope,” Dena said.
“No atheists in foxholes, right?”
“Something like that.”
Back out on the street, Corey, Zachry, and Dena stood in a little protective knot while scattered pedestrians hurried by, eyeing each other furtively.
“I’d like to go out to Biotron tomorrow,” Corey said. “Meet the famous Dr. Kitzmiller.”
Dena made a face. “Lotsa luck. Dr. K can be hard to find when he doesn’t want to be found.”
“He hasn’t had me looking for him. What about you, Lou? Want to come?”
Zachry shook his head. “I’ve got too much to do here. Touch base with me when you get back.”
Corey consulted his watch. “I’d better get up to the city room now and see what Doc’s pulled off the wire. I want a fresh story for tomorrow’s early edition.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll come with you,” Dena said. “Right now I don’t want to walk the streets alone.”
Chapter 19
They found Doc Ingersoll in the wire room at the Herald with stacks of wire copy littering the table where he sat and Camel butts spilling out of the ashtray. Doc was bent over a pad of copy paper on which he was making notes, his head tilted to keep the smoke out of his eyes.