A Devil’s Choice​

Issue 18

​            Most people have some low level fear of the apocalypse. It’s hard not to in the twenty-first century. There are so many threats and dangerous possibilities. However, my dread was greater than average. It’s part of your life when your job is creating the means to bring about the end of the world.
            Nonetheless, I never really expected it to happen. Much less that I would be part of the cause.
            Reviewing the air monitoring data from outside the containment facility had rattled me. I wasn’t certain how serious the pathogen breach was. Yet, seeing Colonel Harris’ reaction to the analysis frightened me to the core. The alarm in the Lab Director’s eyes confirmed my panic about the scope of the disaster. 
            With a stoic calm, the Colonel whispered, “Keep this to yourself, Beau. Tell no one.”
            My mouth was dry and my palms wet, “What ... what do we do?”
            After a long, distracted pause, he said, “I’ve got to run this up the chain.”
            While he did, I grabbed a few things from my office and fled before an all-hands-on-deck lockdown trapped me at the base. Originally, the laboratory was far away from any population. That was intentional since our work involved gain of function research to enhance the lethality and transmission of pathogens.
            Over the decades, housing had crept closer. Now, large residential tracks were outside the boundary fence. Immediately downwind.
            Driven by fear and survival adrenalin, I bolted home. It only took minutes to load the prepared supplies in my truck. I wanted to be away from the city before word leaked. Soon, highways would be impassable with fleeing hordes. It was difficult to contain my urge to speed and potentially crash on the rain slick road. 
            I was conflicted. As a civilian contractor, I wasn’t technically guilty of desertion. But, except for my current lack of a uniform, the circumstances were very similar. Self-reproach warred with my knowledge that staying could have been futile and fatal.
            We’d run thousands of scenarios on airborne disease vectors escaping the facility. Once something failed, there were few options. Because the consequences were so severe, there were redundant safeguards at the lab. But, no human system is flawless. Budgets are never adequate.
            I hadn’t studied virology to work on weapons. Yet, jobs were scarce. It was easy to embrace the concept that it was ‘only a deterrent’.
            Making this weapon virulent had taken precedence over devising the means to treat it. There was no known natural immunity. That had been part of the design. We’d worked on vaccines, but with less urgency. There were some promising developments. None were fully tested or effective. It was possible a breakthrough could be quickly achieved.
            The virus was highly contagious and had an incubation period of a couple of weeks. Enough time for anyone to be a carrier and spread the virus. Blood vessels would leak. Lungs would slowly drown. Death would be painful.
            Computer models calculated the infection would start slow. Once it reached a critical point in the population, it would rapidly proliferate across the globe. In six to eight months, it could burn through the world before consuming itself. Most would die. 
            That’s why I had an escape plan. Knowing what I knew, it wasn’t paranoia. It was prudent. I’d bought land in the remote mountains. Then, excavated the cave, installed filters and security, and stocked my hidden refuge for just such a day.
            Now that I was away from the city and off the Interstate, the hardest part of the retreat was behind me. There was nothing on the radio. Yet. The communication blackout was holding. Still, I looked back. The Colonel wouldn’t want word to spread prematurely. I imagined pursuers with orders to capture or kill.
            Planning for the end is different than being mentally prepared for it. My mind roiled in the endless debate between my frightened soul and a better self. A gnawing fear screamed I should keep going until reaching the sanctuary. My sense of responsibility tugged me back.
            The adrenaline was melting away. After driving for hours, I was spent and my nerves frayed from the tension. Darkness compounded my eroding energy. I needed to stop.
            Ahead were the lights of the last town. I would exit the state road here and climb into the wilderness. I pulled into the coffee shop/bookstore. The inviting glow belied the dark I knew was coming. I’d spent many hours here on trips to the hideout. 
            Inside, it was just another day. Familiar classic rock played softly in the background. Unsuspecting people sat at the old tables or lounged on worn chairs in the nooks among the stacks. It was an eerie calm before the imminent storm. 
            At the counter, I inhaled the heady aroma of fresh ground beans and the strong scent of brewed coffee. It triggered my mind’s pleasure centers. 
            The cheerful server asked, “What can I get you on this fine day, sir?”
            My face flushed with discomfit. “A large latte with a double shot, please.”
            “Anything else?
            “Yah”. Pointing, I said. “I’ll take two of those sandwiches to go.” I usually didn’t have dessert, but what the hell, it was Armageddon. “And, could you heat up one of those brownies for me.”
            With a smile, “Of course. A name for the order?”
            “Beau”. I paid cash and left a hefty tip. In hours, money would have little value. But, it gave the kid a temporary thrill. 
            I stepped aside while the order was prepared.
            For the first time since bailing, my mind settled. It cleared enough to think about what was happening. I could make it to the sanctuary and be able to use the preparations there. It would improve my odds. But, there was no guarantee I’d survive.
            The incongruity of stopping for coffee while fleeing a viral catastrophe struck me. Jeez! This was an inflection point in my life. Maybe the last one, and I was having a coffee. Like everything was normal.
            I looked around. Rows of wood bookshelves lined the brick walls of the converted building. Any other day, I’d spend a pleasurable hour browsing for old favorites or new finds.
            A pair of high school girls had thick textbooks and laptops spread in front of them. They suppressed giggles as they ignored their studies while tapping out phone texts. An old gentleman held a few used paperbacks. His finger traced down the rows of crime mysteries seeking another treasure. Two couples shared a relaxing moment over drinks. A young mother curled on the floor reading to her rapt child. It was a scene of warm and cozy community. Perhaps having a coffee and cherishing a last touch of normalcy was exactly what I should be doing.
            The change hadn’t even hit and my brain buzzed thinking about the things I’d miss. These people, this type of place, and what it represented, wouldn’t have been atop my list a few days ago. But, the calmness and inherent joy of it struck deeply. There would be a ‘New Norm’. Whatever it turned out to be, I didn't see room for a casual coffee with people enjoying these pleasant routines of life.
            The server called my name. I picked up the drink and food.
            Looking nervously out the window, I half expected to see a demon cloud pursuing me. Once loose, the virus would hunt like a voracious predator. I should move and reach the sanctuary before the world changed. But, I hesitated. I looked around and savored. This could be my last memory of “Before”. The ‘Golden Times’ in advance of the abrupt transition to ‘After’.
            I settled into an overstuffed leather chair under a soft light. The sweet bite of the drink seemed richer than usual. The sandwich was especially tasty. The vegetables fresh and flavorful, unlike the canned variety that was my future. I would have coffee and books in the cave. There, alone, I couldn’t replicate the comforting, layered quality of this shared experience.
            Looking at these folks, I was embarrassed for severing my responsibilities to the societal threads that bind. I didn’t know them. Still, we were linked by the nebulous spider’s web of community. Especially now that we faced a common threat. I was involved in creating this disaster. They were clueless victims. I struggled to keep the image of ‘dead men walking’ from overwhelming my mind. The temptation was strong to warn these innocents.
            But, what do you say? “Run for your lives!” Would anyone believe me? And where do they run? I had thought this through. Someone might call the authorities to report a delusional individual in need of medical help. If anyone did believe my story, they could follow me. And, out here, lots of folks had guns to back up demands. No. I couldn’t risk my isolated refuge being found.
            Besides, if I issued a warning, it would speed up the time of panic. Undercutting remedial efforts at the lab.
            Nonetheless, indecision remained. I was as conflicted as all the other times I’d played out this possibility. Often late at night. 'What to do' had always been a theoretical close call. While making my worst case preparations, I’d convinced myself they’d never be needed.
            There had been months when I was certain that if catastrophe struck, I’d stay and work to the last on a solution. To try and at least minimize the harm. My expertise would increase the likelihood of success.
            On frustrating work days, the notion of every man for himself had dominated. I’d justified an escape decision by rationalizing my medical training could help survivors in the aftermath. The idea had merit, but cold comfort for the billions who perished. And, who would the remaining people be? Violent or half-crazed survivalists? Desperate roaming individuals or tribes willing to do anything to live?
            When the leak happened, flight had been a panic reaction. Logical thought hadn’t entered my mind. Calmed by food and respite, my flight or fight decision could be judicious. Still, there was barely more clarity than all the previous times pondering ‘What If’. The music helped settle my spinning thoughts. After a few minutes of contemplation, I shook myself alert and studied the people. 
            The final decision couldn’t be delayed any longer. In the truck, I closed my eyes. Right would complete the flight to the isolation and potential safety of my bunker. Left led back to the Lab and the risky fight to stem the tide and save the world.
            I put on the blinker and made the turn.

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BILL DIAMOND writes to help figure out this wonderful, complex and baffling world.

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