The Second Republic by Steven Clark Bradley - Flying Dead...

[Steven Clark Bradley]

The real purpose of this book is to reveal the true nature of the culture of death that has come to pervade over every major decision we face. The many groups that make up the culture of death have made America more the land of the freak and the slave than the free and the brave. I have not written this novel with pride or bitterness. Rather, it has been penned to warn a great nation that a land is nothing without the care and mercy shown to its less fortunate. It is submitted to you to underscore that the measure of a great nation is not in its GNP or its S&P but in its TLC. On the contrary, the words written here have been tempered with fear and trembling for the nation I love.

The indisputable facts laid out herein are written in shameful disgust over the failure of the moral base of America to adequately speak out and stand up to be counted. No great nation can long endure under the strains of the obtuse who seek to systematically destroy those whom our nation has so long defended.

America shed her fear and marched its youngest and brightest into WWII to fight an intolerable tyrant and the idea that only the State could decide who was worthy of life. We fought and died to bring Adolph Hitler and his regime to an utter end because of his disrespect and utter disregard for life. Now, today in America we have Judges seated in a leather chairs behind some large desk not making choices to help someone live but rather deciding who should die.

America stood tall and brave against the forces of Communism because of just such an evil philosophy as this, which religiously and progressively marched its people to a dreaded drum right to the very precipice of death and defeat; a defeat based on the loss of our commitment to freedom and life. Yet, today in America, decades after the Great War, are we really better than those we destroyed? Are we really different?

Perhaps the Nazi movement and the Communist ideals are not so much dead as they are renamed and recast in more benign and more beguiling silhouettes; wrapped up in a tattered swath of red white and blue and empowered by a document that no more represents and no longer resembles the original constitution of the United States of America than did the Communist Manifesto or Mao’s Little Red Book. The diabolical forces at work in America must be rendered powerless.

We cannot stop them from speaking out, lest we defeat the very freedom we seek to preserve, but we must always be vigilant and ready to work against them by recognizing the forces at work, and the masters they serve, which make up America’s emerging culture of death.

Lest none of us have any quality of life, it is imperative that we take another look and reaffirm the words of Philosopher, Francis Schaeffer when he said that there is no life that is not worth living. If we believe thusly, then we should pose ourselves the same question he most profoundly and often posed, “How shall we then live?”

_______________________________________________________

Flying Dead

March 5, 2011

Over Minnesota 12:58 PM

“We just want to thank you for choosing American Airlines. We’ve just reached our cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet and we’re looking at an hour and twenty more minutes of flight time. I have turned off the seatbelt sign, but try to stay buckled up when seated. Thank you.”

For Fred Lockridge, an unbuckled seatbelt was the least of his worries. Earlier in the morning, he had not thought a thing about that dead pig that Elmer Risner had dragged into the feed store. To him, it was just another dumb hillbilly showing his stupidity. He had forgotten that he was one of them hillbillies, himself. So, he got out of there and headed home quickly, because he had a plane to catch.

Fred Lockridge was reaching out. He had found a deal of a lifetime. Some old farmer in Southern South Dakota was getting out of the farming business and was letting his cows go for a steal. He decided that it was time to grow the family business and set it all up. He had his ticket, his check book and hopes as big as the sky that he was traveling through right now at four hundred nautical miles an hour. That was then, this was now.

Fred had pinned it down, after he noticed the changes that were taking place over most of his body. He had thought his way through his steps all morning before heading to the airport in Chicago.

I remember when stupid Elmer dragged that slimy carcass in to the store. I left out of there almost as soon as he brought it in. Then I went home and got ready for the flight. I felt fine, just excited, that’s all. He tried to convince himself. Then I got ready to jump into the shower and took off my shoes and … yes! That when! I Grabbed hold of one of my shoes and I had some of the slime on it and it got on me. “I washed the damn stuff off!” he shouted.

Everyone close to his seat looked at him and several asked him if he were OK. After assuring everyone, he looked at his hand that had come into contact with the toxic material. His whole hand was covered with blisters and it was moving up his arm and across his chest.

Fred Lockridge unbuckled his seatbelt and walked back to the lavatory. He could hear people talking and several covered their noses and others asked anyone who could hear them what that terrible smell was. Fred got into the lavatory and unbuttoned his shirt.

He looked at his neck area and his face then his back and shoulders and then suddenly, the blisters popped open and that same slimy stuff oozed out and began to form all over his body. It reminded him of a few horror films he had seen, but this was no movie. It was real and he was living it. He tried not to, but against every bit of strength he could muster, he let out a bloodcurdling scream that everyone in the plane heard.

Fred Lockridge looked back at the mirror and he saw the skin on his face literally dropping off into the sink. Then he felt a fire raging in his stomach and throughout his interior organs. Smoke started rising up off his body and the smell was so strong that it filled the whole plane.

“Sir, are you OK? Can we help you?”

“No, you don’t come in here, you hear me? If you want to live, stay the hell away from me. Tell the pilot that you …” He screamed again and then managed to get out a few words. “Tell him that you have an emergency and it is as bad as hell!”

“Sir, we’re opening the door.” The hostess said in a panicked voice. “No! I told you! Are you stupid or what?” Fred then looked one last time at himself in the mirror and his eyes melted and he crumbled to the floor with a hole in the middle of the slimy ooze that had been his body. The hole that had been his mouth opened and closed quickly and finally moved no more.

“Sir, are you OK?” There was no response. “I’m opening it!” The Chief Steward said.

“Sir, I don’t think you should.” The other hostess said. “I think he was warning us, and I think we should listen.” The Chief Steward knocked on the door again. There was still no reply. The Chief Steward picked up the phone and called the Pilot.

March 5, 2011

Washington DC 1:35 PM

“Doctor, tell me what you’ve learned.” President Tate said.

“Mr. President, we have been able to determine the compound rather easily.”

“Is that good?” Fisher asked.

“It is neither good nor bad. It is a common flu virus. You see, there is not much difference in original viruses that cause the flu. As they spawn, they are powerful, but quite treatable and susceptible to known vaccines.”

That means we can stop it?” President Tate asked, almost happy.

“Every virus can be stopped, but this one has undergone some very exotic mutations.

Mutations in viruses are almost always natural. A bird with flu virus dies and then is ingested, let’s say, by a swine. When this takes place in nature, that is the time that dangerous mutations take place, like the great pandemic of 1918. The mixing of species with the same virus cause radical mutations that strengthens the virus and makes it harder to defeat, because it takes on an ability to mutate into different forms much more easily. I hope I am not losing the three of you.”

Secretary Blake looked at the President and Fisher and saw they were taking it all in. “I think we are following you just fine, Dr. Marks.”

“We do controlled mutations all the time in the laboratory so we can develop specialized antibodies that cover most of the mutations that lead to new strains of flu. Those can become very violent and powerful forms of flu, but of course they are kept frozen and later destroyed to use as dead viruses that can be used to prepare a vaccine. This one is different.”

“Why did I know you were going to say something like that?” President Tate said in dismay.

“I am sorry Mr. President, but this virus has gone through a myriad of mutations, most of them, if not all have been controlled and for the purpose of making it so deadly that no vaccine could be found soon enough to stop the spread. We have not completed all the preliminaries, but I know enough already to tell you that this will spread incessantly and it will kill literally millions of people before we can develop that vaccine and inoculate those not yet affected.”

“As I said, we have not completed our testing yet, but we can already count DNA trails of 47 different species that were infected to create new mutations, and all of them are mammals, with the exception of the bird virus, which was the original host. That is the worst part.”

“Worst part, what does that mean?” Tate asked.

“The mutations that affect humans the most are those that have resulted from mammal hosts. Whoever developed this evil thing knew what they were doing and purposely made a flu virus that can kill and waste away its victims in minutes.”

“Give us a second, Doctor.”

Fisher hit the mute button so they could talk together.

“Mr. President, we have to invoke HR8791.” Secretary Blake insisted. “We are looking at a large number of dead and we have to have the ability to dispose of them, as inhumane as that might seem. Something like this is so catastrophic!”

“What did they call it? Ah, yes, The Second Republic Bill. Fisher, what do you think?” President Tate asked. “What will be the political fallout if I invoke this Bill that will turn America into a totalitarian State?”

“Mr. President, it is totally unconstitutional! Excuse me, Secretary Blake, the hell with the political risks, what about freedom? It is wrong to start that monster! You invoke that and you’ll have two demons to kill, one biological and the other political, each as deadly as the other. It will not withstand the scrutiny of the American People, nor the Supreme Court, in just one day’s time. Chief Justice Saul will render his decision tomorrow, right? If it is ruled constitutional, then the country’s gone anyway!”

Tate let the debate go on, but he agreed with Fisher Harrison.

“Mr. President, of course, you’ll be ridiculed and maligned, perhaps burned in effigy, in my opinion, quite justly, if you invoke HR8791.”

Tate retorted. “My veto has already been overridden, and I might be impeached, if I do not.”

Tate looked at both Blake and Harrison. “Gentlemen, that’s why we have these jobs; never anything but the truth. Thank you for that, I think.” They all found it funny.

“I wish I had a happy lie to tell you, Mr. President, but we have to preserve sanity and security and most of all, freedom.” Fisher forcefully declared.

President Tate hit the mute button again.

“Doctor, are you in a position to give me an idea of the rate of spread?”

“Well, we have it contained in that small town, and that should slow it down.”

“Actually Doctor, we have one potential victim who is in a plane over Minnesota, as we speak. We are on the ground at its destination in South Dakota. We’ll quarantine everyone on the plane after it lands.”

“Mr. President, if that person gets away from you or if the plane crashes, the spread will increase in speed, exponentially. You must get those passengers in a secure and sealed location!”

“Our men are in place in South Dakota.” Secretary Blake confirmed. “We’ll follow your recommendations to the letter.

Thank you Doctor.” President Tate ended the call.

“Sam, I am appointing you Secretary of Defense, which means you running everything for few days. I know that’s a tall order Secretary Blake, but you’re a tall man.”

Fisher looked at the man he’d give his life for and who had just broken a pledge. The news landed hard on Fisher, for second, but he seemed to absorb the blow. Since coming back alive from Tehran, Fisher had only two friends who he’d entrust with his life, even the lives of his wife and son. One of them was Hamilton Smith, aka Dog Mac, a man who had saved Fisher’s life twice. The other was the President of the United States.

I think I’ll just play along. Fisher told himself. The President’s pretty good at that perception thing too. Fisher realized. I trust this guy.

“Sam, you need to get an escort up there around that airplane. I know we have to get info to the pilot, and we don’t want a panic, but there’s plenty to panic, about right now.” President Tate said. “Make the necessary connections, and get that done. You can draft up any request, except HR8791, for the time being, to this effect and I’ll sign it, and let’s get that going. Are there any questions from anyone?”

“Absolutely not, Mr. President; it’s an honor to work with you at a time like this.” Sam Blake said.

“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate your words.” President Tate walked over to Secretary Blake and escorted him to the door.

“Sam, I hope you don’t think I’m rude.” Tate said as he reached for the door knob. “But I’ve just given you the job I promised Fisher. Don’t worry, he’ll be alright. He won’t try to kill you or nothing.”

“He’s a great man, Mr. President. It’s an honor to work with him too.”

“You are right. I have something else I need from him.”

Blake thanked the President and glanced over at Fisher who seemed placid, which concerned Tate. He knew Fisher Harrison was only serene when he was holding something in, concealing his real feelings. President Tate closed the door.

~~~

“This is the pilot of American Airline 2211 to ground reporting an emergency.”

“AA 2211 what is your emergency?”

“There is a very powerful something happening here. I can’t explain it, but I have man dead in the toilet and there others feeling sick and some are having some strange reactions. Requesting emergency landing and you should call the CDC. We have a biological. I repeat, we have a biological!”

“Copy that.”

The ground officer in Minneapolis picked up a line to his boss.

“Sir, I just got a call on the emergency channel from AA 2211. They are in route to Pierre, South Dakota. He’s requesting an emergency landing.”

“So, why are you calling me? Get the man down.”

“Sir, you need to get over here right now! He said they had a biological on board.”

“A What? Oh sweet Jesus, I’ll be right there!”

Back in the coach, passengers were terrified. They had all heard the man in the lavatory screaming his bloodcurdling cry and the smell was a mixture of rotting, stinking flesh and burning and tearing of tissues and it all naturally created a state of massive panic. The Pilots cabin phone rang.

“Yes, Julie, you got that thing under control?”

“Control, we’re all going to die back here! Do not come back here! You have to land this plane! Do you understand? You had better get it down, Now!” the hostess screamed and then the line went dead.

Throughout the cabin, passengers were screaming and looking in mirrors at the boils that had started forming around their necks and across their chests.

“Julie? Julie, pickup please!” The pilot looked at his co-pilot.

“I’m gonna check it out.”

“Sir, you heard Julie! She gave you a warning to stay away. Maybe you should do as she said.”

The pilot thought about it for a second. “I have no choice. I have to do this! It’s my duty.”

The pilot unbuckled his belt and stepped over to the cockpit door and opened it. I’ll be right back.

The cabin was silent. There seemed to be a mist, a hot something floating in the air. At first it had not bothered the pilot, then, after he had breathed in the putrid stuff, his nose started burning and he seemed to be on fire. He turned on the flashlight he found at the service section. There was so much smoke or hovering haze that the cabin lights were drowned out. He turned it on and started walking, holding his other hand over his mouth and nose. It seemed there was no one there. He couldn’t see one head in a seat. Did they all disappear? Was it the rapture? The pilot asked himself. Then he felt something gooey under his feet and his shoes seemed to stick to the floor. The pilot shined the light to the floor and that’s when he saw it.

One of the first-class passengers was indeed in his seat, but his body was melted away and all the pilot could see that made the man’s humanity verifiable was the man’s face, which was still dissolving. His mouth was screaming as his body turned to liquid, leaving a gaping silent hole that wanted to scream its last blistering cry of agony, but remained silent. The pilot reached out to help him, but jerked his hand back. Then the wasted away passenger, in one last-ditch effort to live, seemed to jump or bubble upward and the greasy film that covered him flew into the air and landed on the pilot’s face. Almost immediately, he wiped his face off. But he felt the searing heat of the material, and it had become so virulent that it had already started tearing at his face, as the 757 flew about fifty miles from Minneapolis, Minnesota.

The pilot radioed his copilot. “Peter, the aircraft is yours.”

“Sir, I could barely make you out. Is everything OK?”

“Do not … come ba … back here. All is lost! Everyone is de … dead. Save yourself. Land this…” The radio went dead. The copilot sent out an emergency distress call.

“Mayday, Mayday!”

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