WARNING – Neutralize all poison caches before evacuation of the city.
With a disturbing crack, the concussive wave arrived. The explosion rattled the steel door of the communal chemical and munitions storage bunker and sent a rush of air down the long narrow corridor. Dust and smoke drifted from the windows above and filled the dimly lit hallway.
Two hundred feet away, a pair of deadly ricin pox viruses loitered at the large bay door, patiently waiting for it to open. They’d escaped from a broken jar, cultivated in a former Soviet Republic lab at the edge of the Middle East.
The viruses are no longer viable, and all the labs surrounding the bunker were empty. It wasn’t necessary to evacuate, only to neutralize the toxin, flood the bunker and then wait for the proper CDC officials to arrive and defuse the situation.
Technician Henry Hernandez knocked on the bunker door. “Shipley, you need to get into the bunker, now. Get ready to neutralize the virus.”
Shipley and Henry were the only two present at the bunker, as far as Doc Johnson could tell. Any time there were more than four people present somewhere in the facility, the alarm would sound. That’s why Henry was worried, and he should be. There was a greater than ninety percent chance that Shipley was dead on the other side of the door.
Shipley was in no hurry. He met Henry outside the supply door, just outside the bunker, and handed over his grenade launcher. “Wait here. I’ll get the door unlocked.”
“How long does it take to unlock a door?”
Fortunately, Henry’s panic-filled question was senseless. The bunker was a “safe” place, meaning it had no weapons capable of reaching the surface. A simple line of code had disabled most of the bunker’s automated weapons.
Shipley disappeared into the storage room, and Henry watched the door for any movement.
Thirty minutes later, Shipley poked his head out of the storage room. “All over. I probably killed ten of them before I got it unlocked, but no thanks to you.”
Henry pointed to the watch he was now wearing. “Then it’s time to get the hell out of here.”
Only one particular government would bring such a large contingent of soldiers to a just-deactivated bunker in the middle of the Potomac. The American government had once experimented with hand cannons packed with buckshot but had since ceased production. Today it was business as usual.
The next day, the facility was still secure. The soldiers stood around the perimeter of the bunker staring at the capsules of ricin that were already removed from the storage room. The bunker should continue to be secure for the next week or two, until crews arrived to dismantle it.
A small group of soldiers, all in camouflage, approached the soldiers standing guard around the pit. “As a precaution,” said one of the soldiers, “the entire bunker is now filled with chlorine gas. We’re just waiting for the fire department to arrive to ensure a total release.”
When the soldiers caught wind of the chemical reports, they flooded the facility. The eleven troops of the Russian Viper Squad rushed the bunker. The confrontation was over in a matter of seconds. The remaining soldiers were swiftly disposed of.
The eight remaining soldiers stood back to back around the pit. They ordered the fire trucks to pump as much chlorine gas into the bunker as possible. One by one, the soldiers stepped forward until only two were stationed at the pit.
The announcer finished and the video abruptly ended.
Outside the bunker, the sound of a rifle being put in its case, seeped into the bunker. Military trucks screamed away. The sound of sirens filled the air.
A hour later, the emergency crews began arriving at the facility.
The new commander in charge of the facility, Captain Shapiro, was a forty-six years old man with wispy hair and a mustache. He was explained outside, but none of the soldiers saw him.
Henry entered the bunker first and pulled his grenade launcher from the small storage room. “Shipley, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, just preparing to watch the news,” Shipley said, casually.
Henry recognized that Shipley was preparing to kill himself. “But you didn’t kill all those soldiers! Why are you doing this? We have these, and I can get more, if you want.”
Shipley’s eyes turned to stone. “Oh, I killed them. I killed them all, so I could make it look like there had been an attack. The entire facility is covered in chlorine gas. They’re all dead, so the American government will have no choice but to make it look like there’s a war on. It’s what they do, right? Kill everyone in the world they don’t like, in the name of freedom. How do you think they’re going to feel about killing their own?”
Henry’s face turned red. “But you’ll never make it home. Why are you doing this?”
Shipley laughed. “You know they won’t let me leave the country if I’m a wanted man. I’ll die in the next twenty-four hours, probably in another country. They’ll put it on the news, and then I’ll be dead.” He pulled out a grenade from his coat pocket and threw it into the canister of ricin.
“You can’t die,” Henry insisted. “We have to live together in order to defeat the American government.”
He pulled out a hand grenade, and Henry knew it was over. “Which side are you on, Henry?”
“I’m with you,” Henry said, as they stared at each other. “I respect your decision, but we must go together.”
Shipley’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yes. That’s true.” He pulled out a revolver and shook his head. “You’re right. I should probably say something.”
He paused and said nothing for so long that Henry began fidgeting.
He shook his head. “No, you’re right. There’s no need. I’m not a very good actor. Have you ever wondered how I got into this position to start with? How do you think I became a Captain at such a young age? Hell, I’m not even forty.”
“I don’t know, why?” Henry said, his voice cracking.
Shipley nodded. “Of course you don’t. I was part of a network that had infiltrated the United States. I acted as one of the ‘boots on the ground.’ I had my orders, and no matter what the American government did to me–“ He paused and stared into the canister again.
Henry took a deep breath, clenched his fist and stood at parade rest. “By order of the President of the United States of America, fire.” Shipley pulled the trigger on his pistol. A red ball of flame shot from the end of the gun, hitting the canister of ricin.
The smoke was heavy in the bunker. Henry coughed and screamed, “They’re getting close. They’re beginning to move.”
At the edge of the horizon, beyond the United Nations building, the great statue of Atlas watches over the world. It is forty-eight feet high and covered in bronze. The statue of Atlas, whoever he was, was the monument’s titular centerpiece.
The six figures stood in formation at the edge of the Hudson River. They had arrived from six different parts of the world to make a statement. Each of the six figures leaned over the rail and threw a single grenade into the river.
As the explosions were extinguished into the river, the six figures turned to face the sky. They stood in silence and watched the sun sink below the horizon.
