The Coward's Way of War (39 page)

Jim looked and she waved a wand-like device in front of his eyes.  “I just took your picture,” she explained.  “My associate in my vehicle will start producing your vaccination certificate now.  I must warn you that losing the certificate will mean a hefty fine and attempting to sell it will be punished by execution.  We have had people try to do just that, despite the warnings, and they risk spreading Henderson’s Disease into safe communities.”

She scowled as she helped Jim to his feet.  “Sit down for a few minutes and relax,” she ordered.  “I suggest that you have no direct contact with anyone outside the farm for at least a week.  If you do not develop any worrying symptoms, it should be safe for you to have contact with anyone else, infected or uninfected.  If you do develop symptoms, please contact us at once.”

Jim frowned.  “And what sort of symptoms should we expect?”

“Hopefully, nothing,” Gillian explained.  She looked down at the second injector in her hand.  “If you will call in the next person…”

Jim watched as she injected everyone in the farm, one by one.  The injectors still surprised him, even though he saw how they worked.  No one felt anything, apart from coolness and a tiny flicker of pressure.  Once the injections were complete, Gillian packed up her bag and stood up.

“That went well,” she said, brightly.  Jim scowled inwardly.  Some of the other family members had bombarded her with questions about the vaccine, including the claim floating around on the internet that it was made from pork fat.  She’d dismissed that one, noting that it was being spread by people with a vested interest in causing trouble.  “There are places where it’s gone a lot worse.”

Jim looked up, interested.  “How much worse can it be?”

“Well, there’s a family of survivalists over on the other side of Mannington who didn’t want the vaccine at all, yet insisted on trying to visit the town and barter for food and stuff,” Gillian said.  “Eventually, they were given a choice between being vaccinated or being permanently barred from the town.  And then there were the Amish down south, who refused to be vaccinated in a body.  And then there was the family who refused to allow the authorities to take the bodies of the dead and incinerate them…and don’t even get me started on the tofu-eaters who refused to allow their children to be vaccinated because vaccination is evil…”

She shook her head.  “There are a lot of fools out there,” she added.  “We’re just trying to ensure that the disease doesn’t spread any further.  We’ve got around seventy percent of the local population vaccinated now, so hopefully Henderson’s Disease will die out around these parts, once the refugees die out.  There are a lot of them lurking around hoping that they can beg or steal enough to live on.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed.  “How dangerous are they?”

“Don’t open your gate at night,” Gillian advised, as they walked out of the farmhouse.  “There have been some nasty incidents.  God alone knows if we will catch the guilty parties, but for the moment, if you think someone is hostile, open fire.  They won’t show you any mercy.”

The soldiers looked up impatiently as they walked down to the gate.  One of them passed Gillian a bag, which she opened to reveal a number of identity cards.  Jim shivered as he looked down at his card, knowing that it proved that he had been vaccinated, but that it also served as a way of tracking his movements.  The survivalists had watched the federal government intrude more and more into the private lives of its citizens and - whatever the motives - the vaccination certificates would put an awesome amount of potential power into the hands of the government.

“Don’t lose them or try to sell them,” Gillian repeated.  “Once the schools start up again, the children will need to keep them with them at all times, at least until we manage to terminate the threat once and for all.”

Jim nodded as she looked up at him.  “Remember, don’t go outside the farm for five or so days, and then you should be safe going everywhere,” she added.  “The local authorities are looking for people to help out, so if you want to volunteer, please do.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jim said.  “We’ll see what we can do.”

He waved goodbye as the small convoy turned around and headed back down to the road.  The soldiers waved back, although some of them were clearly nervous, looking around for potential threats.  The meaning wasn't lost on Jim; the countryside was more dangerous than Gillian, or anyone else, had admitted.  Shaking his head, he turned and went back into the farmhouse, making a mental note to double the guards around the farm.

There was always something to do on the farm and he found himself helping to muck out the horses, a task that would normally have fallen on the boys.  They’d managed to forget to tend to their animals in the excitement of being vaccinated, even though they had been warned time and time again of the consequences for such carelessness.  Jim had been at pains to remind them, back when they’d come to the farm for holidays, that animals were always for life, never just for Christmas.  The small puppy they’d kept for two years until it had been run down by a careless motorist should have been a reminder of that.  Jim grunted and tried not to breath too deeply as he transferred the horse’s wastes to the compost and then headed back into the house.  He had a pair of young sons to discipline.

”
Jim, come and look at this,” Linda called, from the living room.  Jim blinked in surprise, but followed her voice, shouting for the boys to present themselves in the living room afterwards.  “They found out who did it.”

Jim stared at the television as the talking head prattled on.  “…Reports that the United States issued an ultimatum to the Saudi Government demanding that the Saudis turn over the people responsible for the biological warfare attack on America or face war,” the man said.  His voice sounded shaken, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.  “Our correspondent in Kuwait reports that massive reinforcements have been flown into the country and prepared for war…”

He paused suddenly.  “We have a direct link to our correspondent in Riyadh, capital of Saudi Arabia,” he added.  “We go now to Ben Faulkner…”

A new face appeared in front of them.  Ben Faulkner was an older man, wearing an Arab outfit that made Jim’s heart churn with outrage.  “The streets of Saudi Arabia have been packed with young men cheering the devastation wrecked upon the Great Satan,” he reported, his voice cold and a little nervous.  “Today saw massive demonstrations against the United States and Israel” – the screen switched to recordings taken from above – “and the government, so far, has done nothing to disperse them.  The Islamic Committee for the Prevention of Vice and the Promotion of Virtue issued a statement decrying the claims that Saudi Arabia was behind the attacks and stated the Israel carried out the attack to encourage the Great Satan to destroy the Islamic Faith.  Furthermore…”

“Wait,” the talking head said.  “Are you and your men safe there?”

“We’ve been promised protection by the Minister of the Interior, who seems to be one of the ones named in the ultimatum,” Faulkner assured him.  “Many westerners within the country have been taken into protective custody to protect them after a howling mob attacked a western-owned and operated housing estate within the city.  The government has promised to keep them safe, but has warned that it cannot guarantee their safety if the United States attacks.”

“Hostages, in other words,” Gary growled.  Jim nodded.  Gary was old enough to remember how Iran had held the entire United States paralysed.  “Carter should have nuked the ragheads and to hell with international opinion.”

“We might be nuking them after this,” Linda said, disdainfully.  “They launched a weapon of mass destruction against us and we have to retaliate.”

“Nonsense,” Gary countered.  “When was the last time an American President had balls?  They get them all removed when they take the job and start fretting about world opinion and how best to suck up to the United Nations.  And President Handley didn’t even start out with balls.”

“And has the government said anything about the American claims?”  The talking head was asking.  Jim waved a hand at his family, encouraging them to be quiet.  “Have they confirmed or denied the statement that the Saudis are behind the attack?”

“The Saudi Government has said nothing, but I’ve heard reports that the Saudi Royal Family is packing up and leaving the country,” Faulkner said.  “There are supposed to be no flights out of the country, yet a number of aircraft have departed the capital, destination unknown.  In fact, I believe that the Crown Prince himself has left, although I have no proof…hang on, the crowd is getting wilder…”

The camera pulled back, panning across the angry crowd.  The handful of policemen were incapable of holding them back and found themselves being pushed back, despite their best efforts.  One of them drew a gun and fired into the crowd, only to be rushed by hundreds of angry men, who trampled him to death.  A moment later, the crowd surged towards where Faulkner was standing and Jim saw him falling under their blows, just before the camera was knocked down and the signal vanished.  The screen clicked back to the talking head in the studio.

“Ah…we’ll be back in touch with Ben Faulkner as soon as possible,” he said, clearly taken by surprise.  Jim snorted.  That probably wasn't going to be possible unless they hired a medium.  “We go now to Washington DC…”

A new face, a reasonably pretty girl, appeared in the screen.  “As yet, there has been no response from the White House, but the mood on the streets is angry,” she said.  “Even with the threat of Henderson’s Disease, people have been gathering to protest the Saudi attack and demand immediate action.  Over the city, mosques have been attacked, particularly the ones with Saudi funding.  Muslims and Arab citizens have been attacked.  The Washington PD has issued a statement decrying such attacks and appealing for calm, but there has been no change.  The only thing keeping the attacks down is fear of Henderson’s Disease.

“The Treasury issued a statement, just after the news broke, that all Arab-owned business and investments within the United States would be frozen – if not nationalised – until the situation was clarified.  Banks across the United States have been ordered to freeze the accounts of every Arab within or outside the United States, particularly the Saudi Royal Family.  We believe that governments outside the United States are taking similar action.”

The camera cut back to the talking head.  “In the hour since the news broke, we have received thousands of emails and telephone calls demanding the destruction of Saudi Arabia,” the talking head said.  “Senator Beseecher is online now; Senator, how do you feel about the demand to nuke Saudi Arabia?”

“I see no need to hesitate,” the Senator said.  “There seems to be no doubt that the Saudis were responsible for the attack, the deployment of a weapon of mass destruction against the United States.  Our policy allows only one response; immediate retaliation.”

“But millions of innocents would die,” the talking head pointed out.

“Millions of innocents are already dying,” the Senator countered.  “The Saudi people did not control their government, nor did they attempt to change it.  They are as guilty as the government itself.  They need to be punished.”

“Speaking of punishment,” Jim said, as the two boys came into the room.  “Tell me; what were you thinking when you left the poor horses untended?”

The two boys flushed.  “Dad, we…we were busy,” Jim Junior said.  His voice trailed off under his father’s hard stare.  “We wanted to go potting rabbits.”

“And how many times,” Jim demanded, “have I told the pair of you that farm chores come first, ahead of everything else?  This isn’t a place where someone else cleans up after you, but a place where everyone has to work together.  Why did you disobey me?”

There was no answer.  “Come here,” he said, unbuckling his belt.  “I am going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry.”

Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Day 35

“It isn’t working,” Prince Ibrahim said, desperately.  “My contacts are not taking my calls.”

He looked up nervously.  Being so close to Prince Mukhtar was uncomfortably like being close to a wild and dangerous animal, or perhaps to an unexploded bomb.  The Black Prince and his clerical backing had used the chaos of the American ultimatum to secure control over the country and the military establishment, almost without a fight.  The more moderate princes, who might have been counted upon to resist the extremists, were trying to flee the country – or had been quietly thrown in jail, on various pretences.  The only reason the Black Prince kept his cousin around was because of his contacts outside the country...and perhaps because he needed a court jester.