Apache Dawn, - [little bear else holmelund minarik txt] 📗

El Segundo, California

Los Angeles Air Force Base

“Mr. President, if you could—please—lay back down and relax,” pleaded Dr. Honeycutt. The Chief of Emergency Medicine wrung his hands—it was clear he was not used to people disobeying his orders.

The pounding on the other side of the thick door intensified. Brief muffled shouts drifted into the communications room. The SEALs knelt on either side of the entrance, weapons ready, but with their eyes full of questions as they looked to their leader, standing near the President.

Brenda had a lot of questions, as well. How the hell are we going to get out of this? Did they really mean we were all traitors? I’m just a doctor…I didn’t shoot anyone…

“Miss,” said the President gently, drawing her attention back down to the gurney where the leader of the free world lay dying. He put an emaciated hand on Brenda’s and squeezed. She had to force herself to look at his face. The skin around his ears was a distinct blue color. His eyes were sunken into grayish folds of skin that on closer inspection, were just dark blue. Memories of the Blue Flu made her stagger backwards in fear.

No…no, it can’t be back…

“Take this thing out of my arm so I can put my coat on. Please,” the President gasped. “I’ll be damned if the last image people have of me is…this.”

“Sir,” she said, feeling her throat constrict with emotion. Here he was, a septuagenarian, on death’s doorstep from the weaponized flu, and he was worried about making sure he was wearing a proper coat to address the nation—a nation that had already given him up for dead. She tried hard to hold back the tears. She knew from The Pandemic that once an infected patient started showing signs of cyanosis, death was only a few short hours away—if they lasted that long

“Please, sir…this tube is helping to keep you alive until—”

Something heavy hit the door, causing everyone in the room to suddenly stop and look around with alarm. The thud echoed again through the door. Whatever they were doing, base security was determined as hell to smash the door down. She shot a glance at Cooper, the SEAL leader. He frowned. The expression didn’t make him any less handsome. Brenda averted her eyes before he noticed her stare.

“Miss…” The hand squeezed hers again. She looked down, thankful for the distraction. The President’s grip was no stronger than a two-month-old baby’s. “I know I don’t have much time.” He wheezed and coughed, a gurgling, wet sound. “I can see it in the look on your face, dear. Please let me do this my way.”

One of the nurses—Brenda thought her name was Pam—sneezed. Everyone froze again. Brenda shot Dr. Honeycutt a look. He nodded and moved to put an arm around the poor woman. She had her hands to her face, covering her mouth and a frantic look in her eyes.

Does she have it? Brenda watched as Dr. Honeycutt got the nurse to sit on a dusty chair while he pulled out his stethoscope and checked her breathing. Quickly, with the practiced skill of a country doctor, he ran his hand over her forehead. He turned to look at Brenda and frowned with a quick shake of his head.

Shit. She’s got a fever. Her hand moved to the surgical mask over her face. Don’t think these are doing any good…we’re probably all infected already.

“Sir, we’re all set,” said the Air Force technician across the small room. “When we send out the signal, everyone on the continent who has an antenna hooked up to a TV will see you. It may not get to every house in the country, but you’ll get to a lot of people. I’m going to be bouncing this off three different birds. I bet everyone in Washington will see you, at the very least.”

“I’m sure they will, son,” said the President with a grandfatherly smile. He turned back to Brenda. “Help me sit up.”

She didn’t hear the President’s soft request. Brenda was pouring over possibilities, percentages, and risks in her head. How long before others in this little group starting showing symptoms? She looked around at the SEALs. How many of them are infected but not presenting yet? They had all been around the President, nearly as much as the medical staff…

“Right here, sir,” said Cooper as he gently slipped an arm around the elderly man and raised him up off the gurney. Brenda jumped into motion and propped a few pillows behind the President. The Air Force sergeant put a small desktop podium across the President’s lap.

“It doesn’t have the Presidential Seal, sir…but we’ll zoom in so it won’t matter.”

“Very good. Thank you, Sergeant Lopez.”

“Sir.” The airman hesitated. “I just want you to know…it’s an honor to meet you, Mr. President.”

The old man smiled thinly.

Another man wearing a blue jumpsuit raised his hand and said, “Sir, two minutes until we get the signal back.” One of the panels behind him chirped and went red. He smacked it with the palm of his hand, bringing the light back to green. “Ah…that’s if it holds together.”

Brenda looked at the impressive array of equipment in the shadows on the far side of the room. To her, it looked like Mission Control at NASA, not a communications center. She marveled at the progress of technology. Forty years ago, that equipment was considered state of the art. Now, she could easily do the same thing with a cellphone—if the entire world hadn’t gone completely to hell.

“Okay, Mr. President,” said Lopez with a hand on the President’s shoulder. “When I give you the hi-sign, start talking. You’ll have about…” He looked over his shoulder at the other airmen, manning the control stations. One looked up and held up a hand, all fingers splayed out.

“You’ll have about five minutes of clear airtime to broadcast,” continued Lopez. “After that, the satellites will be out of range and the feed will drop.”

“How did you figure all of that out so fast?” asked Dr. Honeycutt.

The airman with his hand up stepped off-camera and said over his shoulder, “We got word from NORAD yesterday on how to backdoor some old communication and weather satellites from the ‘60s. It allowed us to reestablish contact with Washington and…well, this isn’t going to be 3D-HD or anything, but people will know the President’s still with us, that’s for sure. It wasn’t easy to get these old pieces of…” An embarrassed look came over the young man’s face. He glanced at Brenda and looked away.

“Uh…these old computers, to work…they’re really ancient, now. But…the process is basically the same as with new equipment. Think of it like a webcam. On steroids. Just got to massage these old ones a little more.”

“One minute!” someone called out from the bank of control panels. “I got us hooked into the base feed. Everyone here will see you now as well, sir.”

“Okay, everybody, back out of the light,” said Lopez. “We need quiet!” He frowned in Dr. Honeycutt’s direction. The Chief of Medicine placed a comforting hand on the shoulder of the sobbing nurse next to him in order to keep her quiet.

“Our microphone isn’t exactly Hollywood quality.” He checked his watch. “Okay…you’re sure about this, sir?” he asked.

The pounding on the door continued unabated.

“Yes,” said President Denton, his pale, sweaty skin making him look like a living skeleton.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” said Lopez with a grin. “And five…four…three…two…” the sergeant held up one finger then closed his fist and pointed at the President.

“Good evening, my fellow Americans,” said the President