The Survivalist (Frontier Justice)

Chapter 3

President Rosalyn Glass stood staring out the window of the Oval Office. The VH-60N helicopter, known as Marine One, whipped the grass with its massive blades as it slowly descended onto the White House South Lawn. They would be coming for her soon.

She held a cup of tea close to her face, the steam slowly rising to condense on her glasses. Her hands trembled, and her heart pounded so violently that she wondered if others might actually be able to hear it. She tried to steady herself by sipping the hot brew, and it immediately burned her lips. She lowered the cup and licked at the tender flesh. Pain, she thought, not just for me; enough for everyone.

She replayed the conversation that she'd had with her Chief of Staff less than a half-hour earlier, a conversation that would forever change her life and those of billions of others.

Tom Barnes stepped into the Oval Office and announced himself.

"Madam President."

"What is it?" she asked, stepping from behind the Resolute, the 19th century desk that had served nearly every president since John F. Kennedy.

His ashen face betrayed the severity of his message.

"Ma'am, there's been an incident."

"What kind of incident?"

He stared at her, unable or perhaps just unwilling, to put words to the catastrophe.

She raised an eyebrow. "Talk to me, Tom. How bad is it?" They had dealt with a host of emergencies during her first two years of presidency, and she had never seen him so shaken.

"There's been—" his voice faltered. He tried again. "There's been a release of a viral contagion."

President Glass moved to the sofa and sat. She struggled to keep her composure.

"Tell me."

Her Chief of Staff sat in a chair across from the couch, as he always did.

"The incident occurred at the Army's Biological Warfare Lab in Fort Detrick, Maryland. We don't have all the details yet," he said, shaking his head, "but what we do know is that a small amount of a viral agent was inhaled by a researcher."

"What exactly was inhaled?" she asked, horrified by the thought of anyone having been exposed to a biological weapon.

"It's known as Superpox-99. The symptoms are similar to those of smallpox: blisters, respiratory distress, blindness, limb deformation. It's as bad as you can imagine." He looked down to study his hands. "Worse than you can imagine."

"Why the hell were they working with something like that?" Even as she asked the question, she knew there was little point in pretending righteous outrage. Despite the country's public signing of the Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention in 1972, advanced research had continued to identify and isolate a superbug that might prove the ultimate deterrent and thus tip the balance of modern warfare.

Tom understood that she didn't expect an answer, and so he offered none.

"How deadly is this thing, Tom? Give me numbers to work with."

"As the name implies, if it's not treated within the first couple of days, about ninety-nine percent of those infected die within two weeks."

"My Lord," she said, covering her mouth. "And it's contagious?"

"Yes, Madam President, highly contagious."

"Please tell me that it requires physical contact," she pleaded.