The major reached into the box, showing him a thick stack of waxy pieces of paper, the name of the world’s foremost private package company on the backs. “I think these are those things that are left after you put address and customs stickers on packages.”

Jenkins stared at the scores of sheets in the man’s hand, the hundreds in the box, and he knew in that moment that the game was already lost. They had failed, and Jenkins didn’t want to live in a world where he’d wrecked the train so badly, nor one where in a few hours his infected brain would be begging to admit what a mistake he made, and ask forgiveness of someone, nor one where he would cheerfully give up all his enormous wealth and privilege so he could slave for the good of mankind.

A world where he didn’t get to torture Daniel Markis, or even hate him for winning the game.

“Major, I have some terrible news.” Jenkins stared at the man for a moment, until he had his full, weighty attention. “I have made a horrible mistake. This liquid dispensed out of the sprinklers is filled with the biological weapon. Everyone inside is now in the first stages of infection. If any one of us gets out of here, he could spread the disease, and millions will die. Our families will die. The United States might not survive it. We have only one choice.” He spoke the lie with complete conviction.

The major licked his lips, wiping his mouth convulsively, eyes bulging. He took a deep breath, straightened up, and finally said, “Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Not everyone will have the fortitude you do. Even if your men maintain discipline, some of the others won’t. So before we become incapacitated, your men must seal off all exits, permanently. Use explosives and collapse the tunnels.”

“That will be easy. The terrorists already did most of it for us. That was the explosions you heard.”

Jenkins sat back in relief. “Good. They did us a favor. They wanted us to think ourselves trapped and try to escape, not realizing that the sense of duty of good men like ourselves would keep us here anyway. We will maintain discipline and work as long as we can, and we will see if some miracle cure will come to us, but for now, just make sure no one leaves.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jenkins dismissed the major and then got out of the vehicle. The sprinkler system had run out of liquid. The air smelled like dirt and sweet cloying humidity, the ground covered with a thin layer of mud. His shoes made squelching sounds as he walked across to the armored sedan.

A back door opened, and he slid inside next to the National Security Advisor. The man had an old-fashioned car-telephone handset pressed to his ear.

“Yes, Mister President. One moment please sir. What is it?”

“You have him on the line?”

“Yes, the ultra-wideband repeaters we planted were able to find their way through the rock fall.”

“Good,” Jenkins said. “Put us on speaker, please. Mister President, we have a situation.”

Nineteen minutes later the first B2 Spirit stealth heavy bomber orbiting above them released its special payload. One minute after, a second one did so in California.

A new sun briefly blossomed in the West Virginia mountains. Then another, larger one in Los Angeles. The President came on nationwide television almost immediately, preempting all broadcast channels. He pronounced the falsehood easily in his smooth orator’s voice.

“My fellow Americans: a few minutes ago, terrorists detonated an improvised nuclear device in Los Angeles, California, and another in rural West Virginia. They have attacked a cruise ship in the Atlantic ocean, and all aboard were lost. Hundreds of thousands of our countrymen are dead. There may be more attacks to come. Ladies and gentlemen, we must act now. Therefore, in consultation with, and with the full support and ratification of both houses of Congress, the United States is declared, as of this moment, under martial law.”

***

Vinny Nguyen drove the old jeep through the West Virginia nighttime, northwestward toward Pittsburg, Cleveland, and eventually Canada, he hoped. He should meet up there with the rest of the community, who had filtered out of the bunker over the last week.

Vinny had dug his way through the last few feet of soft dirt after he had triggered the explosions that sealed Jenkins and his people in, and then wirelessly activated the modern electronic valves that flooded the complex with contaminated fluid. He smiled as he thought about the trap he had lain, and the flawless way his systems functioned.

At least he died happy as blackest night turned to atomic day.

-27-

The video went viral less than an hour after the nuclear explosions. Despite the best efforts of the National Security Agency, US Cyber Command and every other arm of the government, it was posted and reposted to servers all over the world, to social networking pages, to websites and just simply e-mailed to people everywhere.

In the video, Daniel Markis’ face looked at the camera, calm and composed. He smiled briefly, looked down at his script, and then spoke in a strong, confident voice.

Hello, my fellow homo sapiens. I’m Daniel J. Markis, and I’m here to tell you about a better world.

But before that world arrives, there will be some problems. Your own governments and leaders will try to suppress this video and the knowledge in it. But it won’t work. Information wants to be free.

Then they will try to suppress the miracles. But that won’t work either. The miracles have already been sent to too many places.

You will have heard scattered reports by now of miraculous cures of terminal illnesses, in Central America and Mexico, in Los Angeles, in the US State of Georgia, in Bermuda and many other places. But the miracles are right next door to you now.

Over one thousand packages have been sent by private service to hospitals in a thousand cities around the world. The greatest number were sent to places where poverty and disease is rampant – to places like Calcutta and Mexico City and Rio de Janeiro and Cairo and Cape Town, as well as the great centers of civilization like New York and London and Paris and Moscow and Beijing.

Each package contains a simple bottle of a miracle solution. Less than one milliliter of this liquid will cure anyone injected with it of almost any known disease. You don’t have to take my word for it. Just give that tiny amount to any patient, any person, with a terminal illness, anyone who volunteers. As far as I have been able to tell, it has almost a one hundred percent success rate.

If you run out of the cure, then there is an easy solution. Anyone who has been cured already can pass the cure on through blood or saliva or any other bodily fluid. Once you are confident of its power, all you have to do is pass it on.

If anyone tries to hoard the cure, don’t worry. Don’t do violence. Just seek someone out that has been cured, they can pass it on to you. Share a drink, or a mint. Kiss them if you feel like it. If you are a medical professional, use a syringe or a swab or an inoculation gun. It doesn’t matter. And if it doesn’t work, try it again. Because miracles really do happen.

Good night, good luck, and welcome to a better world.

 

 

-28-

Daniel woke up from the nightmare again, the nightmare where he could see the food behind the glass but couldn’t reach it. He stumbled over to the bathroom faucet, drinking cup after cup of water. His dinner was long gone and he couldn’t convince them that he needed more calories. Or maybe they wanted to study him in this state of starvation. He looked in the mirror, seeing a concentration camp victim already.